Neo killer7
by Sonowa
Summary: The year is 2024. The threat of terrorism has returned to the world. Those who have been chosen to counter the Heaven Smile once again are eight skilled assassins. They are the Johnson Syndicate. They are the Neo killer7.
1. Target 00 - Devil

**Author's Note: killer7 is the property of Capcom and Grasshopper Manufacture. This work of fiction is created without the consent of either company, nor is it published with the intention of making profit.**

 **This work of fiction is written under the assumption that the reader has played killer7 to completion, and that the reader has read** _ **Hand in killer7**_ **, the companion book released by Capcom. If not, it is highly suggested that the reader does so in order to properly enjoy reading this work of fiction.**

 **As this is a work of fiction, any resemblance the characters in this story have to real-world counterparts is completely coincidental.**

 **This work of fiction is intended for mature audiences. It contains intense violence, strong language, and themes that might not be suitable for younger readers.**

* * *

 _I suppose you've heard of the killer7. It wouldn't surprise me; it seems everyone has._

 _Those assassins who took the world by force when it looked as if peace could finally takes its rightful place on Earth. The only ones capable of killing the Heaven Smile, a terrorist group that had filled the minds of the public with unease ever since they interrupted a meeting at the United Nations. A name that would live on in infamy, seen by few but remembered by many._

 _When I say that phrase, "killer7," most people would think of a specific group of people. I refer, of course, to the second Smith Syndicate. Led by a wheelchair-bound man who seemed to have psychic powers, they could transform from one into the other at will, each with their own special attributes._

 _With that said, we live in a world where that syndicate has long since been dismantled. Their leader was seemingly shot dead, their ace had turned out to be a spy, and the Heaven Smile had disappeared. The world no longer had a need for the killer7._

 _What it did have a need for was a different group of assassins, those who had no connections to the outside world, no secrets to be used by government agencies. What the world needed were not superheroes nor antiheroes, but something in between, a group that did what they did not for the good of man or for their own good, but solely to follow commands from an unseen leader._

 _The world needed something… new._

* * *

 **March 14, 2024**

 **Outskirts of Seattle, Washington**

A thin man in a tuxedo walked the empty streets, a platter with a lid resting delicately in his raised right hand. His greying hair was receding, with only a smattering of it left atop his head. A pair of shined shoes glowed eerily in the dark of the night as he paced, his footsteps the only sound that could be heard.

 _Walter Johnson was more than a butler to me, he was an irreplaceable member of the organization. To say that his loyalty and his willingness to work were a benefit to me and to the rest of the Johnson Syndicate would be greatly understating his importance; as he has often told me, it was like a goal of his to work for the good of the syndicate, so that he could do proper work for his master. Suffice to say, the role of the cleaner fit him like a charm._

 _I never liked the word "master," to be frank, but Walter wouldn't budge from using it. I suppose he considered it something of a necessity, which I can understand. Walter's mindset is not mine to control, as is the case with any member of the syndicate._

A breeze blew through the streets, though Walter was smart enough to shield his bowtie before his dapper looks diminished any. Walter knew the importance of appearance through his professions both as a butler and an assassin; it did get a bit tricky if blood was to be involved, but Walter was always prepared with a backup suit or two.

After walking for what seemed like hours, he finally saw another man in front of him. This man wore a brown suit similar to Walter's, though it showed a significant number of wrinkles compared to the fresh-pressed looks of the butler's. In one of his gloved hands he held a manila folder.

A glint appeared in his grey eyes as he held up the folder, his long beard waving slightly in the dying winds. Walter paid him no mind, though he did grab the folder with his spare hand after shifting his tray to his left.

Walter did not pass any others on his walk, and he was grateful for it; one false move could have blown any cover he had, and the element of surprise seemed to become more important with each passing day.

Finally, he stopped at the entrance to a towering building next to the Space Needle. The gloomy black paint peeled at either side, the window panes were shattered, and Walter knew just through a glance that any lock the door once had would be broken. Nevertheless, he held his position in front of the gate, glancing to either side to make sure he was not being followed.

His lookout was interrupted with the ringing of a cell phone in his breast pocket. Walter picked it up and answered it within a few seconds, after gently placing his platter on the steps before him.

" _It's me. Have you arrived at the designated area?"_ a gruff voice asked from the receiver.

"I have indeed," Walter responded. "You have my thanks for passing on the necessary papers, Mr. Stonewall."

" _I told you, call me Solomon. I may be getting old, but this sort of thing still makes me feel alive."_

Walter smiled at that. "So, what would be the primary objective here, anyways?"

" _It looks like a few of those damn bombers are still in there. Even worse, they might be spreading again if it's anything like what happened ten years ago."_

"Sounds tricky enough," Walter muttered. "Anything else I should keep in mind, sir?"

" _Knock it off, Walt. I just reminded you what I like to be called, didn't I?"_

"My apologies, Solomon."

" _Anyways, from the look of it, there are actually a handful of humans in there. I can't say for sure whether they're working with the bombers or not, so keep an eye open."_

"Understood."

" _Well, may the Lord smile."_

"And may the devil have mercy," Walter finished before hanging up the phone and entering the building.

 **A familiar assignment at the "Celtic" building**

 **MISSION No. 14: Eliminate the Heaven Smile populating the building, ensuring that any human occupants are safely evacuated.**

Walter opened the file as he slowly paced through the ominous green hallway of the Celtic building. He stared at the face of his new target.

Just as he suspected. There was the same green suit, the same green skin, the same piercing stare. The target was none other than Kun Lan.

Walter frowned at the picture. It had been reported years ago that he had died along with Harman Smith in a room of the infamous Union Hotel, shot multiple times by a tommy gun. If he could have survived that, would Harman also be alive? And if that were the case, what good would his being here do?

The cleaner had to interrupt his thought process as he glanced up at the corner of the room. A familiar security camera glanced down at him in response.

"It appears this is more serious than I thought," the butler remarked. "Swap out, Monica."

Walter's body dissipated into a series of blood-red orbs that floated in the air for a few moments before reconvening into a new person.

This new entity was a raven-haired woman in a three-piece suit, complete with a jet black necktie that complemented her white undershirt. Her blue eyes glared around the room as she marched forward.

"Hey… hey, somebody's here!"

The woman raised an eyebrow as she watched a young man in red shuffle awkwardly towards the center of the new room.

"The hell are you doing here?" the woman berated as she stared down the survivor. "You must be one of those Red Gunners, aren't you?"

"What… you know about us…?" the man asked, supposedly at a loss for words.

"You realize that your gang were supposedly killed some ten years ago, y'know. All by those smilin' bastards."

The young man looked around in fear. "Don't say their names. They can hear us… _sense_ us… you could almost say that-"

He couldn't finish his thought, however, as the woman had already launched a bullet from a magnum pistol straight through his heart. A maniacal laugh filled the room as the young man exploded in a torrent of blood, which she absorbed through some unseen force.

"I'm looking right at one, huh? Looks like you're a bit late on the trigger. Sucks to be you; I never am."

 _When seeking a worthy wielder of the title of hellion, it was Monica Johnson that stood out from the crowd. Not only did she seethe with every comment someone would make at her, but she would show her opinion through bullets, not berating. Someone who shoots first and asks questions later is always a good choice in the assassination business._

 _What surprised me about Monica was her choice in weapon, or should I say, weapons. She dual-wields magnum pistols similar to the one used by one Coyote Smith of the second Smith Syndicate, who despised their Hellion. I imagine this is only a coincidence, but it still leaves me more than a little wary as to what she could be trying to say._

 _Of course, as I've already pointed out, she'd only say something after filling her target with lead, which I'm more than okay with._

Monica spat on the floor before running forward into the lobby. She left one of her pistols facing backwards, an insurance policy in case a Smile dared to sneak up on her.

Her movements were interrupted when a familiar man in bondage gear bungee-jumped from the ceiling.

"Oh, for fuck's sake…" Monica grumbled.

"Master, it is new," the being groaned, his voice distorted and high-pitched. "A new chance to face the day, to conquer the known world with your unstoppable might. I, Vincell Dill Boris VIII, son of Iwazaruscof, shall assist you in any way that I can."

"You could start by shuttin' your trap," Monica grunted.

"It appears that another familiar foe shall approach you soon. I trust that the Hellion will be able to assist. I relinquish this, under Harman's name."

With that, Iwazaru bungeed his way back up to the ceiling. Monica flipped him off before setting out to the next room.

The Remnant Psyche was correct, though. A Duplicator Smile sat at the other end of the garage that the door led to, countless eggs being spat out by the second.

A twisted grin spread across Monica's face.

"Looks like it's time to shine."

Readying her twin pistols, she fired at each egg before destroying the Heaven Smiles within in a single shot.

"How pathetic," Monica taunted with each terrorist destroyed.

She continued this for several minutes, only pausing to reload when necessary. Finally, she paused to reach into her breast pocket and pull out three vials of a strange red liquid.

Opening one of the magazines with her thumb, she stuck the vials into the gun before taking aim at a disgusting-looking sac on the duplicator's web-like body.

" _Prime Collateral Shot!_ "

A blue orb of dazzling light shot out of the magnum, hitting its target dead on. A blinding explosion resulted from the destruction of the duplicator, which Monica used to blast the last few eggs into oblivion before doing the same to the Smiles that emerged.

After absorbing the blood that emanated from the slaughtered Smiles, Monica rushed forward to see another familiar face, one with grey hair, soulless eyes, black jeans, and a matching black tank top that read "FALSE MEMORY" in bright pink letters.

"Now you're just trying to piss me off, aren't ya," Monica growled.

"Hey, maybe I'm not entirely pleased to see you either," Travis Bell responded. "Straight up, though, this is getting serious. If the chief wanted me to switch jobs just for the sake of some half-baked assassins, that's saying a lot."

"Watch it. Don't think I can't kill you right now."

Travis gave a distorted laugh. "I'd like to see that happen, to be honest. But that'll have to wait until after this hellhole's cleaned up. You're no Smith, of course, but it's always nice to watch people try."

Travis was unfazed as Monica's bullets traveled through his ghostly personage. She swore violently before retracing her steps to the elevator hall.

It was then that she noticed a curious door that seemed out of place. Checking her other breast pocket, she pulled out a large plastic bag full of viscous blood. Bag in hand, she opened the door and entered.

A modestly-decorated living room sat untouched by any bloodshed or intruders. A television sat in one corner, Iwazaru in another. Paying the Remnant Psyche no mind, Monica turned on the television.

While the first channel was blank, it was the others that she was interested in.

"At your service." The cleaner.

"You wait here." The hellion. Monica flinched; she never could get used to seeing her own face on the monitor.

"To spill blood is to pay your respects to your homeland. It is a sacrifice I am willing to make." Barefoot.

"Whoa, where'd you come from, man?" Four-eyes.

"Ah, are you looking for a magic show?" The thief.

"Ooh, pick me, pick me!" Shorty.

"Make your face like stone. Only then can you possess true power." The mask.

Everyone was there, all accounted for. With the unofficial roll call completed, Monica flipped through a few more channels of static before finding her target, a mysterious-looking man hiding in shadows, his gloved hands raised ominously.

"Hey, doc, make with the serum," Monica commanded, shoving the bag of blood through the television. "Those freaks aren't much now, but there's no way in hell I'm gonna be caught off guard."

The Mad Doctor gave a solemn nod as he pressed a button on a strange machine next to him. It sputtered for a moment before slowly churning away, washing the blood from the bag and popping out small orange bottles of a shiny liquid in its place.

Monica tapped her foot impatiently before the machine gave another sputter. The doctor sent the serum back through the television, which Monica grabbed before injecting several of the bottles' contents into her right arm.

The hellion smirked as she felt power coursing through her veins. She placed the remaining serum in the corner of the room before giving another middle finger to Iwazaru and taking her leave.

Glancing around the room, Monica noticed a spiraling staircase that ascended to the next floor. Not seeing any other doors, she ran straight for it before crashing headlong into an invisible wall.

"Shit," she grumbled, dusting off her suit. "Looks like it's time to punch out. Swap out, Zechariah!"

As Walter had beforehand, Monica dissolved into a collection of red orbs, which gathered together to create a giant of a man. A bandana rested over his scalp, complementing his serious green eyes. Rolling up the sleeves of his off-white dress shirt, he brushed off some dust from his muscular arms, admiring the sheen that the light had on his tan skin. Alongside a pair of black slacks, his most peculiar garment was his lack thereof, in that he wore nothing on his feet.

 _There have been some rumbles of uncertainty regarding Zechariah Johnson's place in this organization, perhaps not due to his work ethic as much as his appearance. Even in a business as unethical as this, I have been accused of stereotyping with having him take up the position of barefoot. After I correct them by saying that he chose that position himself, naysayers tend to keep quiet, lest they anger a seven-foot-two Indian cutthroat._

 _Zechariah may seem menacing at first glance, but he is arguably one of the gentler members of the Johnson Syndicate. Maybe it's the fact that he uses a crossbow instead of a more traditional firearm, maybe it's his reflective tone of voice as he waxes poetic on the importance of one's native land. Regardless, he's also a damn talented assassin with some… unique traits, shall we say._

Zechariah felt around in front of the staircase, ensuring that the unseen barrier was not a trick of the mind. He nodded grimly before reaching into a knapsack he had resting on his shoulders and pulling out a standard crossbow bolt.

Without any hesitation, he stabbed himself in the arm with the bolt, causing a torrent of blood to spray out and submerge the barrier, destroying it almost immediately.

"An offering has been made," Zechariah commented, returning the bolt to its holster. He paid no mind to his arm, which was already in the process of healing itself.

"W… what just…"

The Indian looked over to see another Red Gunner, barely holding on to his bleeding stomach.

"You can… control…" the gang member whispered before fainting. Zechariah shook his head before pointing his wound at the fallen man and letting his hyperactive blood cells fix both of their injuries.

When the Red Gunner was breathing steadily again, Zechariah moved on to the staircase, knowing full well that he had only interrupted the survivor's inevitable death.

The barefoot giant moved up the staircase slowly, his hulking size preventing him from running as quickly as the other two members of the syndicate. When he did reach the top, he found himself glaring at a Camellia Smile, her bloody spots dimly glowing in the dark hallway.

Zechariah reached for his crossbow and prepared the same bolt that had stabbed him not a minute ago. He closed one eye to prepare his shot, and fired.

With a loud twang, the bolt shot forward, leading the Camellia to run away from the bolt before it could hit her. Zechariah cursed under his breath; his weapon was never good at stealthy situations, and losing the possibility to obtain that much thick blood would mean he'd likely be the first to give up on the power-granting serum.

The Camellia ran forward to another Smile, this one seemingly asleep. When the traitor exploded, the sleeping Smile awoke with a ferocious cry, firing a rainbow-colored laser forwards at an unsuspecting Zechariah.

There was a great flash and a cry of anguish before Zechariah's head, removed from his body, dropped its jaw, and stared into the abyss.

* * *

"Need some cleaning?"

Walter emerged from the red specks back in the living room area, dusting off his jacket.

"I did not expect to be called back so suddenly. It appears that our foes are gaining power."

As Walter left the room, he cocked an eyebrow as he watched Iwazaru drop from the ceiling.

"Master, it is new. The Smiles are evolving. Some have even given up their invisibility for powers beyond our comprehension! We must be careful, lest the mission is failed."

"I agree," Walter said with a nod. "Any other advice?"

"Those Sleepy Smiles will end the lives of anyone who dares wake them up, as Barefoot so kindly demonstrated. Leave this one to the Mask. I relinquish this, under Harman's name."

Walter gave a friendly wave goodbye as Iwazaru returned to the ceiling. Removing the lid from his platter, he tossed the contents of the tray into the air, revealing it to be a standard pistol. He returned the lid to its rightful place before snatching the gun in his other hand before it hit the ground.

"Time to speed things up."

With that said, Walter escalated the stairs at lightning speed, stopping only to fire at a pair of Heaven Smiles that had escaped Monica's shots. When he had reached where Zechariah's head was, he gently placed it under the lid before returning to the room that he had left from.

"I assure you, this is business as usual. You shall be returned to normal in a moment's time," the cleaner whispered before emptying the contents of the platter into the television.

A celebratory jingle played from the speakers, and Zechariah Johnson once again returned to the television to fight another day, though Walter's attention was focused on another member a few channels away.

"Swap out, Konstantin."

Once again, Walter disappeared, soon to be replaced by a man with an expressionless face. His simple clothes made him look as if he was attending a funeral; pure black, including gloves. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a pistol and a revolver.

 _What is there to say about Konstantin Johnson? He is the mask for a reason; he does not show expression on his face, regardless of the circumstance. Even the likes of Zechariah could show anger or surprise, but this man simply will not. I'm unsure whether it's a choice or some sort of disfiguration, and to be honest, I'm not courageous enough to ask._

 _Konstantin's position, though, is one that others could not take, as he is a master of two types of combat. In one hand, he holds an automatic machine pistol good for taking out hordes of whatever he may face; in the other, a silent revolver perfect for stealth. Not all assassins could master multiple arms, and I have come to theorize that that same lack of expression somehow gave him this talent._

Konstantin's empty stare focused solely on the door in front of him. He entered it slowly, ascended the staircase slowly, and approached the Sleepy Smile slowly.

The tired terrorist barely blinked its eyes open before staring down the end of Konstantin's silent revolver. With one shot, the entity that had so quickly destroyed Zechariah Johnson was destroyed just as quickly.

"You are powerless," Konstantin said blandly, preparing his automatic pistol. "Now, to handle the others."

Konstantin would have moved on to the next staircase, had he not caught Travis leisurely standing in the corner of the room. In his typical fashion, he had changed the phrase on his wifebeater; it now read "GHOST STORY".

"Let me tell you something, shit's been a whole lot different nowadays," Travis remarked, not waiting for Konstantin to ask him anything. "For one thing, those Soul Shells have all but vanished. Guess folks aren't biting the dust like they used to. And another thing, where the hell did everyone else go? I'm still here, the new bondage freak is here, but there's no sign of the chick with no body, the kid in the stripes, or that shithead salesman. Tell you the truth, it's almost gotten lonely."

Travis looked around from his position; Konstantin had long since moved on to the next floor.

"Son of a bitch," the Remnant Psyche swore under his breath.

* * *

The steps seemed familiar to Konstantin; they went around the building instead of another closed-off area, letting him take a few breaths of the nighttime air as he ascended.

He only stopped when he saw what was ahead of him. A Giant Smile was patrolling the rooftops, its one eye gazing every which way for its next target.

Konstantin considered his options. His revolver wouldn't make any noise, but if he missed any more shots he'd have to reload, a decidedly louder action. On the other hand, his machine pistol could blast it to bits, but Konstantin knew full well just how much damage a Giant Smile could take if his weak spot wasn't shot.

Finally, he made his decision.

"Swap out, Kyle," Konstantin whispered before vanishing.

As the blood molecules reformed, a mousy man with short brown hair took in his surroundings, his wide eyes squinting as if the stars could blind him. He wore a green jacket over a plain white shirt, along with a pair of brown corduroy pants and dusty brown shoes. He pushed up his thick-framed glasses as his gaze was drawn to the cyclops ahead of him.

"Not cool, man…"

 _From what I've witnessed, it seems that with every group of assassins you hire, there always has to be one choice that you end up regretting at the end of the day. Suffice to say, Kyle Johnson fits the bill more than anyone else could. I'm practically driven to madness whenever I see his bloodshot eyes or hear his exhausted, breathy voice; he's probably taken more drugs than anyone else I know, alive or dead._

 _He's still a top-quality assassin, of course. Additionally, since he's inherited the title of four-eyes, he can turn invisible whenever he pleases. His weapon of choice is an intriguing selection, being a multipurpose firearm that can fire deadly shotgun shells or be used as a sniper rifle. Essentially, I'll support Kyle as long as he keeps himself away from me and focuses on those Smiles._

 _Then again, I don't think I've ever seen Kyle focus on anything. God, what a mess._

The assassin's shaky hand reached into his coat pocket, carefully pulling out a complicated-looking weapon and aiming it at the Giant Smile. From either overdose or withdrawal, Kyle's hands shook even more as he tried to use the scope of his rifle to aim for the humongous eye that was his target.

"Just a few more seconds, man…" he muttered to himself, trying as hard as he could to properly aim his shot.

The unmistakable sound of a bullet resonated, and just as the Giant Smile turned to see what had caused it, the bullet landed straight in his pupil.

The terrorist gave out one final laugh before exploding into an array of colorful dots, some of which were absorbed into Kyle's person.

"Whoa…" he mumbled, unsure on how to handle the array of lights and sounds that bombarded his pounding head.

It was no surprise, then, that Kyle had no idea that a carrier pigeon was divebombing at him. Fortunately, he chose that very moment to approach where the lights just were, making the pigeon crash straight into the floor.

"…Wha?" Kyle half-asked, glancing over at the grounded bird. "This ain't the place for you, man. You'd better… you've gotta get outta here, man…"

As he approached the pigeon, he spotted something clenched within its beak; a rolled-up piece of paper. Kyle snatched the paper away, and began to give it a read.

 **Courtesy of Dwight the pigeon**

 **~ EVERYTHING IS NEW ~**

 _ **From the desk of Mr. Jim Townsend**_

 _ **January 3, 1772**_

 _ **Dear Mr. Deltahead,**_

 _ **I thank you for showing interest in the Jim Townsend Survey Company. We have looked over your credentials, and believe that you will be an excellent addition to our fair establishment. That being said, there is a fairly rigorous task that must be done in order to prove your worth beyond what can be said through merely pen and paper.**_

 _ **As you are no doubt aware, the world of contracts is not one to be taken lightly; one mistake could end your career, your life, or both. I hope that you do not show fear when you witness death, though considering you have already lost the woman you love, I would not put it past you.**_

 _ **Your first assignment is to find and eliminate a man by the name of Travis Bell. Do not ask any questions about this man, or who asked for his elimination; it is against our code of ethics here, and that code shall not be breached under any circumstances.**_

 _ **When you have eliminated the target, return to me at my office, and we shall discuss your future, if you choose to continue working with us.**_

 _ **Good luck, Mr. Deltahead.**_

 _ **Yours truly,**_

 _ **Jim Townsend**_

Kyle stared at the letter for a few moments before Dwight snatched it back up and flew away. The assassin tried to shoot him down, but his shaky hands did not aim true that time.

He shuffled along awkwardly, trying to maintain his balance, before he collapsed into another mysterious door that led to the living room.

"I need a little help here, man…" Kyle gasped, staring at Iwazaru, who was perched ever vigilantly in the corner of the room.

"Master, it is new. You seem to be undergoing a loss of energy. Consult the Mad Doctor and get some serum into your body before your blood is diminished entirely. If you are worried that you will not have time, I would highly recommend changing places with another member. Please do not die in this room if you can help it. That would be very ugly, and I much prefer looking at a clean room. I relinquish this, under Harman's name."

Kyle rolled his tired eyes at Iwazaru's diatribe before crawling his way to the television. He barely managed to change channels to the doctor before handing him the bag of blood.

The doctor nodded once again as the machine whirred away, spouting bottles of serum that the doctor somehow injected into Kyle through the television.

After a few bottles, Kyle managed to get himself back up and collect any extra serum bottles, though his brow was wet with a cold sweat.

"I can't take much more of this, man. Swap out, Christina…"

As Kyle's body vanished into the familiar red orbs, just as quickly they reconvened as a young girl who looked no more than ten. A grey wool hat rested on her head, though a pair of blonde pigtails stuck out from the sides. Her hazel eyes were bright with excitement, and she hummed a little tune as she wiped herself off and adjusted her purple backpack. Her orange sweatshirt was far too big for her, as it almost covered up her running shorts and sneakers, but she seemed to enjoy the coziness that it brought.

 _If Kyle was the member of the Johnson Syndicate that I would rather have gone, Christina Johnson would be the one I think the group needs the most. Most assassins I know are all the same. They are the definition of cold-blooded, wanting nothing more than their target's head in a bag and willing to do anything to obtain their goal. But looking at Christina, she wouldn't want anyone to get hurt. To her, she's just playing a fun game, which coincidentally is helping us save mankind from a group of terrorists._

 _As you'd expect, Christina does not carry traditional firearms, but words alone can't describe the power and surprise that comes when she does battle with a Smile. Outside of that, her petite frame allows her to sneak through tight spaces with ease, and her general level of energy lets her run faster than any other. We just have to make sure she doesn't get hurt; when Christina is involved, despite all of our differences, we become a family for her. Even Konstantin is among the first to ensure her safety if something goes wrong. It's nice to know that we still have our humanity, I suppose._

"Thanks, Mr. Kyle!" Christina chirped, giving a friendly wave to the television. "I hope you feel better soon!"

With that, she skipped out of the room and back into the Celtic building, where another Giant Smile had replaced his fallen comrade.

"Uh-oh," she whispered. "Looks like you're gonna have to go away now!"

She knelt down onto the dusty floor, and from her backpack pulled out a bazooka-like object. Looking over it, she gave a little smile and aimed it at the eye as Kyle had done so before.

"Sorry, mister, but I hate it when people are mean to my friends!" she yelled before pulling the trigger.

A moderately large potato launched out of the tube-shaped cannon at a frighteningly high speed, somehow exploding on impact with the cyclops.

"Yeah!" she cheered as the Smile dissipated into the familiar lights and colors. "That was fun! I wonder if anyone else is gonna come out to play?"

"Looking for some fun, kid?"

Christina turned around to see Travis standing where the door had been. He snapped his fingers rhythmically as he stared into space, his shirt now reading "TRUE LOVE".

"Let me tell you how not to have fun; get yourself tied up in something like this. I was only killed once, right? But that letter said I was killed some two hundred years ago. That's some serious…"

Travis bit his ghostly tongue. Despite his personality, even he didn't want Christina to hear any of his usual profanities.

"Er, some serious stuff going on. I'm gonna look into it. You should go on ahead. We'll play later, okay?"

Christina stared up at Travis' empty eyes before giving another warm smile.

"That sounds good, Mr. Travis! I always knew you were a good guy after all!"

As the shorty walked forward through the fourth-floor doors, Travis' permanent smile widened just a little bit.

* * *

As she ran through the twisting hallways of the Celtic building, Christina found herself in a surprising state as she had to stop and catch her breath often. The Heaven Smiles had arrived in greater numbers than before, and even her grenade-like potatoes couldn't get rid of them quickly enough. What had hindered her more was stopping to put more potatoes into the spud gun itself, as her small hands couldn't hold more than one at a time.

"Aw, this is no fun at all," the shorty whined as she threw another potato into her gun. "Mr. Travis is busy, these bullies won't go away, and I'm gettin' tired. Swap out, Mr. Lochlan!"

Christina disappeared into the mist, leaving behind a few confused Heaven Smiles. The lapse in the action soon ended with the appearance of a lanky, slim man with a silk top hat. His baby blue eyes looked into the distance as he ran a finger through his wispy handlebar mustache. His bright green coat fit loosely over his blue button-up undershirt and the rim of his black dress pants, just enough room for him to pull out a curious handgun.

"And for my first trick…" the man stated loudly before firing his gun four times. The bullets blasted forward before turning around and hitting each of the Smiles in their designated weak points, leading to a small series of bloody fireworks.

"Ha ha, voila! _That_ is how you make an entrance!"

 _Never let it be said that Lochlan Johnson would disappoint a crowd. He gained his position as the thief not just for his impressive feats of sneaking into locked rooms and leaping great heights, but for stealing the show as well. His custom handgun is a bit of an odd weapon, as it is equipped with rubber bullets that wouldn't effect most anything, even when fired from high speeds._

 _But then again, I guess that's what he wants us to believe. Through some manner of hocus-pocus, Lochlan can change the direction his bullets travel so that they hit his opponents where they're the weakest, despite his never having seen them before. Like any good magician, he doesn't reveal his secrets, but it's safe to say that I've spent a good amount of my time trying to determine how it was done._

The magician pocketed his weapon as he strolled forward, whistling a whimsical tune before a descending Iwazaru interrupted his walk.

"Master, it is new. Something has changed in the building. This door was never locked, and now it is," Iwazaru said, pointing his body towards a heavy padlock on the door that led to the fifth floor staircase. "I've tried everything, but there's no breaking this lock. We need the Thief to help us. I relinquish this, under Harman's name."

"Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, my floating friend," Lochlan said, his voice echoing through the empty corridor as if it were a big top. "Breaking and entering is simple. Any petty thief could do such a thing. But to enter a room and keep the door locked…"

With a snap of his white-gloved fingers, Lochlan disappeared in a cloud of smoke, appearing on the other side of the door.

"That, can only be done through magic!"

"Magic, huh? Is that what you're calling that shit?"

Lochlan whirled around to see, once again, Travis Bell, occupying himself by hanging from a loose metal bar. His shirt now read "STAINED PURITY".

"You want to see some real magic, just look at how much this place changed, how little there is to see. Two humans that got turned into those creeps, the puzzles and mysteries are all gone, and the only thing they decided to add was a fuckin' lock?"

Lochlan raised an eyebrow at the Remnant Psyche. "I admit, the audience here hasn't been as lively as it has in the past. But the show must go on, as you know. Look here!"

Removing his hat to show his bald head, Lochlan reached in and pulled out a pigeon.

"Ta-da!" the thief said with a smile.

"And here I thought a rabbit would be more your style," Travis noted. "That bird doesn't have a message on it, does it?"

Lochlan gave a hearty laugh before noticing that the ghostly figure was right; like Kyle had seen before, the bird held a rolled-up piece of paper in its beak. Lochlan snatched it away before giving it a cursory glance.

 **Courtesy of Greg the pigeon**

 **~ THE CRYING LIGHT ~**

 _ **From the desk of Mr. Jim Townsend**_

 _ **February 15, 1772**_

 _ **Dear Mr. Deltahead,**_

 _ **Forgive my not contacting you any earlier than I am. After your spectacular performance, we've agreed that you should be more of a secret weapon than a standard assassin. Your skills and capabilities might even match my own, though I'm sure you'd be hesitant to try and take me out yourself.**_

 _ **Before I delve into what needs to be done, I would like to remind you that privacy and compliance are our top priorities here at the Jim Townsend Survey Company. I've heard a rumor that you were looking into your past target beyond our established guidelines. I will look away this time due to your exceeding expectations, but do not expect me to take this so gracefully should this happen again.**_

 _ **I will say that your next target is another assassin, though from the looks of it he may not be as he seems. They say he has something of a split personality, something about a mask that makes him act strangely. I only tell you this because he was a former member of our esteemed group that broke our trust, and he is not to be taken lightly.**_

 _ **I expect the same quality of work that you gave us earlier, Mr. Deltahead. If you disappoint us now, it's very possible that the whole company would go up in flames, and I will not hesitate to make you take up the yoke.**_

 _ **Good luck, Mr. Deltahead.**_

 _ **Yours truly,**_

 _ **Jim Townsend**_

"This seems to be addressed to someone else," Lochlan wondered aloud as Greg took the letter and flew out of a broken window. "Did I conjure this bird myself, or was it waiting for me?"

Lochlan gave the room another look; Travis had left his perch. The magician sighed in disappointment for letting an audience member down, but stormed up the staircase with a renewed sense of duty.

It would have continued to be such a sense of duty, had his determined gaze not caught the attention of another security camera. Lochlan looked up in it with more than a little unhappiness, but accepted that his short time in the spotlight had ended.

"Swap out, Walter," the magician said as he disappeared in bloody orbs instead of a puff of smoke, leaving behind the gentlemanly cleaner.

Walter prepared his pistol as he had done before. He wasn't the most capable at fighting the Heaven Smiles, but he surely would not disappoint his master.

He continued up the stairs to the sixth floor, near the dance hall. Walter looked up, and was surprised to see that another camera had vanished entirely. Remembering the information he read about when the second Smith Syndicate stormed the building, he knew that an angel would soon be ahead.

What he didn't know was what that angel's intentions were.

* * *

"Once again, my children have been destroyed," the wide-eyed angel said. After ten years, she still held the form of a little girl. "And once again, it is a group of strangers that have done it. We owe no apology for our actions, as we are simply aiming to rid the world of the evils that populate it. Is that not your own goal? Why can our actions not work in unison?"

"I am afraid, madam, that evil is in the eye of the beholder," Walter said, aiming his pistol at one of her four wings. "What matters here is not what is right or wrong, but whose actions are causing the most negative reactions. On that matter, miss, you are far from innocent."

Walter blasted away her wings with ease, as they were not as powerful as they were when she first arrived at the Celtic building a decade earlier. The angel collapsed to the ground, where she stayed for all of three seconds before dragging herself back up, her relatively innocent face replaced with the stern smirk of Kun Lan as dangerous-looking bat wings spread from the abomination's back.

"You're not getting away that easily," the target said with an evil chortle. "You may talk a big game, but let's see what happens when you come face to face with a fallen angel!"

"Swap out, Konstantin," Walter interrupted, replacing himself with the stone-faced assassin. The mask readied his automatic pistol as he fired shots into the fallen angel's body, though they bounced off.

"No weak points this time," Kun Lan taunted before preparing a jet of flames. Konstantin stared it down before side-stepping it.

"There's always a weakness," the assassin grunted before switching weapons to his silent revolver. "Aim for the face."

The silent revolver's shot hit its target, but the angel still refused to die.

"Another tip. If you lose once, you'd better have the smarts to change your weak points."

Konstantin's grip tightened ever so slightly on his revolver, his first instance of a reaction since the mission began. He continued to circle Kun Lan, barely avoiding the onslaught of flames that bombarded him before another idea popped into his head.

Changing his weapon back to his automatic pistol, Konstantin shot at the bat wings that had sprouted earlier. Again, no reaction. Konstantin considered his other options before noticing the most obvious solution; the door leading out of the dance hall to the final room of the building.

Somersaulting out of the way of one final jet of flame, Konstantin slammed the door behind him as he left the screeching creature clawing frantically at the door.

Konstantin considered his options, but did not expect the final result to be his disappearance without his own consent.

In his place stood a tall man with a wild mane of orange hair that swept behind his back. He wore a duster over a dark brown dress shirt and white necktie. He reached into the pocket of his matching brown pants before pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his lips, lighting it with a match from his other pocket. His fierce brown eyes stared into the distance as he fiddled with the cigarette near his goatee, before the noises from behind the door finally distracted him.

As he opened the door, the man pulled out a standard-looking shotgun that looked as if it would be best used for hunting game. Putting the barrel between the demon's eyes, the newly summoned man pulled the trigger, and Kun Lan's strange creation collapsed in a heap.

 _Oh, where are my manners? I haven't introduced myself yet, but I've been telling you this story for so long. My name is Jonathan, Jonathan Johnson. I'm the founder and the leader of the Johnson Syndicate, and so I took it upon myself to uphold the position of the "god-killer." Not particularly modest, of course, but it comes with the position._

 _I hope you don't mind, but I don't like to talk about myself that much. Call it an attempt at being humble, call it maintaining an air of mystery, call it an attempt to push the spotlight on the other members of the syndicate, whichever you prefer. Regardless of the situation, I'm more comfortable holding a few secrets. Chances are they will be revealed eventually, but now is not that time._

Jonathan blew on the smoking gun, smirking slightly at the nonmoving former angel at his feet before turning to the final room.

"Hold it."

Jonathan turned around to see Travis standing in the middle of the hallway, his arms crossed over his "CHAOS THEORY" shirt.

"If you're in charge of things here, you might have the answers I need."

"You're looking for answers?" Jonathan asked. "From what I've seen you seem to get your kicks by having my little organization question its own existence. What reason is there for me to try and resolve your mysteries?"

"Because you know. You know everything."

Jonathan laughed at that. "If I knew everything, Travis, I could tell you why you've decided to spend your time following around our syndicate instead of working with your proper master."

"You don't think I've realized that?" Travis asked, his ghostly voice filled with an uncharacteristic desperation. "The chief killed me off, but then there's a letter saying I've been dead for a couple centuries. Can't entirely ask him about that shit, you know?"

"All in good time, Travis. All in good time."

Jonathan entered the door as he walked through the Remnant Psyche's non-existent flesh, Travis looking defeated for the first time he could think of.

* * *

The glass window was still broken in the top-floor room, but Jonathan's attention was focused entirely on the true Kun Lan standing in front of him, his God Hand still glowing with an unnerving light.

"How disappointing!" Kun Lan laughed. "Having to bring out the talents of the god-killer before the game's even begun. I always knew you would be nothing but a sad replacement for Harman."

"This is no game, you sick son of a bitch," Jonathan growled, his tone significantly different than his lighthearted talk with Travis Bell. "You may have played around with that codger, but if you think I'm as soft as he was, think again. I'm here to make sure that your little friends leave this fucking country, one way or another."

"My, your temper is worse than I expected," the Eastern leader said with another taunting chortle. "Don't you remember those days where we could let our words do the talking for us without resorting to violence? Those days where chess games were held in higher regard than war games?"

"I'm not here to play any games with you," Jonathan replied as he chewed through his cigarette. "Now unless you're willing to give up, I'm gonna have to get serious."

Kun Lan's laughter was as maniacal as a Heaven Smile at this point. "Serious! Who do you think you are, Jonathan? Are you planning on changing the world, or just making your little spiteful wishes come true?"

Jonathan raised his shotgun and fired. Kun Lan lifted a finger, and the bullet fell to the ground.

"Oops. Looks like you don't have the power of an anti-tank missile. Shocking, isn't it?"

The god-killer looked at his weapon before throwing it to the floor in frustration.

"If you think I was shooting to kill, you're even more foolish than I expected. I just wanted to send you a message."

Kun Lan cupped his chin in his hand. "A message, you say?"

"Yeah," Jonathan rasped as he spat out his cigarette butt. "The chase is on, and next time, I won't miss my target."

Kun Lan laughed once again. "The world is getting smaller still, but if you think this will make your task easier I'd say you would be the fool here. But if you're so sure that this game is yours, then do your best. This dream of mine… might be the most fun I've had in years! Heh heh heh…"

The chaotic, unending laughter filled the Celtic building's room as countless Heaven Smile emerged from the God Hand. Jonathan picked up and cocked his shotgun; he wouldn't be stopped here.

 **Devil – Complete**

 **Exterminated Heaven Smiles: 108**

 _ **He with his head in the clouds will be among the first to see Heaven.**_

 **Continue to - Sunrise**


	2. Target 01 - Sunrise

_I suppose you've heard of Emir Parkreiner. It wouldn't surprise me; it seems everyone has._

 _Then again, you may not know him by that name. He goes by many: the Bloody Heartland, the Ace of Aces, and most recently, Garcian Smith. It was by this man's hand, and the golden gun that he held, that the shape of the world shifted ever so slightly._

 _It's funny, really, just how much of an impact one choice can have, isn't it?_

* * *

After killing Kenjiro Matsuoka, the head of the United Nations Party, Emir Parkreiner single-handedly eliminated the terrorist group Heaven Smile, otherwise known as the Smiling Faces, in an underground hallway on Battleship Island, the last stand of the Japanese.

Hundreds of missiles were launched by the United States to ensure its destruction, blasting the island and any hopes of the UN Party reaching the point of political power they had longed for out of the picture. Only three years after that, the true United Nations dissolved, and the world reached a point of true globalization, or so it seemed.

As the borders that had divided those countries ceased to exist, the remaining Japanese managed to unite under the seemingly destroyed Liberal Party, using the intercontinental expressways to hold secret meetings and discuss how their nation could be formed once again. It was then that they got the chance of a lifetime when a page of the legendary Yakumo document was leaked and released to the press.

Knowing that the Yakumo was still technically owned by the Japanese, as Matsuoka held onto it in death, the citizens recreated Battleship Island to the best of their abilities. They built it with their own hands and their own homes, knowing that it would be impossible to gather any traditional materials to form a new country in a globalized society.

Finally, four years after their chance at recapturing their former glory, work was completed on Battleship Island, yet it remained just as unpopulated as ever. The nuclear waste that had gathered over time was simply too prominent, and it could not maintain life of any kind. It instead stood as a symbol remembering the bravery and freedom of the Japanese. It was the home of the homeless, a pinnacle of how much a people united could accomplish.

* * *

 _The Japanese, to this day, are still uncertain how they feel about Emir Parkreiner. Was he as much a terrorist as the Smiles for willingly murdering their leader in cold blood and watching as their homeland was blown to bits? Or was that the first push for a chain reaction that formed a tight bond between the citizens of a country divided by the hell that is politics?_

 _I can't say for sure which is the correct viewpoint, but my view is one that cannot be swayed. I recently heard a rumor that Emir has sided with the Liberal Party and is attempting to create a revolution himself. If this occurs, I believe that the mission I have set out to accomplish will go up in flames._

 _There was only one option. It was time for a miracle to take place, one that would in any other circumstance be immortalized in the storied history of assassinations._

 _It was time for the Neo killer7 to challenge their predecessors._

* * *

"Please leave your message after the tone."

Beep.

"Hello, Mr. Johnson. The election is drawing near; have you decided on your vote? If not, please let the Republic Party make the most of your precious vote. Thank you, and have a nice day."

Walter Johnson heaved a sigh as he heard Solomon Stonewall's message. He had heard it countless times in the past, and he knew that it would lead to nothing but more bloodshed. Of course, he knew he had no say in the matter. If the master believed the assignment to be of the utmost importance to his goal, who was he to question his decision?

Walter's home was a modest cabin in Miami, Florida, next to a long-since abandoned factory that his master, Jonathan Johnson, used as his base of operations. It was all of a two-minute walk to the base, but Walter was exceptionally slow in his travels today, his mind foggy with what had to be done.

He regained his gentlemanly stature as he entered the sliding doors to the main lobby. It was just as he remembered; the lone security camera in the far-right corner, the television where he could easily communicate with the other members of the syndicate, and caution tape on all other doors save the velvet-red one that led to Jonathan's office.

Walter hesitated to enter, so he went out of his usual order and checked the television first.

"At your service." The cleaner.

"I'm rarin' to go." The hellion.

"For the native land, I shall fight until my last breath." Barefoot.

"This is gettin' weird, man." Four-eyes.

"The show's about to start!" The thief.

"C'mon, I wanna play, too!" Shorty.

"I shall do as you ask." The mask.

With all seven accounted for, Walter knew he couldn't postpone the inevitable for any longer, and he knocked on the red door.

"Enter," a familiar voice said.

Walter opened the door to see the living room that he had entered in the Celtic building from various otherworldly entrances. Iwazaru was once again occupying the corner, and the television hosted the Mad Doctor. Walter cocked an eyebrow at seeing the taciturn scientist alongside his master, but knew better than to ask why that was the case.

"Ah, Walter. Just who I was looking for," Jonathan Johnson said as he lit up a cigarette. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"Yes, sir?" Walter replied, his curiosity both polite and genuine.

"Walter, why is it that we fight?"

The cleaner considered his options before finally giving his reply.

"We fight, sir, because you tell us to."

Jonathan shook his head. "Let's say I'm out of the picture here. No commands, no higher authority, just you and your pistol. Would you continue to walk down this path?"

Walter looked stunned. "I… I am afraid I do not have an appropriate answer, sir. If you would care to enlighten me with a response of your own, it would be most appreciated."

The god-killer tapped some ash onto the carpeted floor. "Walter, there are many answers that could be acceptable. Genetics, liberty, the thrill of the kill. But there is one thing that ties it all together, Walter. Anger."

"Anger, sir?"

"Walter, I've long since given up trying to reason with humans, as humanity has given up listening to reason. When the world was almost brought together, it was torn apart by a rogue country and a bunch of zombified hooligans with bombs in their livers. You don't commit acts of terrorism to prove a point anymore, you do it to get the reaction.

"It's not enough anymore to just sit back and watch the world turn and the gods dance. When we have anger, we have an incentive, a reason to leap into the fray with guns blazing and make a damn difference when it counts the most. It is that anger that begets violence, and that violence that begets our murderous intentions."

Walter bit his tongue, but could not stop himself from interrupting. "Sir, with all due respect, could it be that those murderous intentions are fueled by something else than anger?"

Jonathan threw away his cigarette.

"We live for those intentions, Walter. You and the other six members of the syndicate have all agreed to help me exact my revenge on the man who ruined the lives of countless people, myself included. I understand if not all of us are going to show that anger, but since it is a part of me, it is a part of you as well, whether you want it to be the case or not.

"Without anger, violence does not exist. Without violence, _we_ do not exist. Every pull of the trigger gets us closer to the world not needing that anger, and not needing that violence, and then not needing us. I have accepted that I will be nothing more than a footnote in the annals of history, but to waste the opportunity that we have been given would leave us with even less.

"Do you understand, Walter?"

The butler hesitated a split-second too long.

"I understand, sir," Walter lied.

* * *

On an overpass, Solomon Stonewall leaned casually against the metal railing, seemingly ignoring the approaching Walter. The cleaner set his tray down gently on the sidewalk before looking out the opposite way of where his informant was staring.

"Your target is one Emir Parkreiner, the Bloody Heartland himself," Solomon spoke up before resting a manila folder next to the tray. "You don't need me to tell you just how dangerous an opponent he can be, but you'd better believe that he's got something else up his sleeve we don't know about. Be careful, Walt."

Walter didn't respond.

"Something on your mind?" Solomon asked, turning to his business partner.

"I had a bit of a breakdown today," Walter admitted. "I found myself questioning the logic and actions of the master. Most unbecoming of me, is it not, Solomon?"

The informant breathed a long sigh before starting to speak. "Lemme tell you something, but keep mum about it. I've known Jonathan for ages now, and he's been a bit on edge since he lost his family. If he's been giving you the rundown about the importance of killing, that's because it's all he's really got now, you know? A man who has given up on everything else for the sake of avenging a few close souls."

"But more souls are destined to be lost, are they not?" Walter responded. "The cycle will never be broken, at this rate."

"You're not here to break the cycle, Walt. You're here because you have loyalty, something that's long since disappeared from this hellhole of a world. If you aren't the one who can find an alternative to violence, someone else will. Right now, you just need to focus on the task at hand."

Walter stared into space for a few more moments before picking up the folder and his masked weapon.

"I suppose there truly is no alternative. Where is the target?"

Solomon gave a little smile. "He's been hanging around Battleship Island, from what we've seen. Now go out there and show him what the Johnson Syndicate's made of, huh?"

It was Walter's turn to smile. "I will not disappoint."

 **May 9, 2024**

 **An all-out brawl on the war-torn Battleship Island**

 **MISSION No. 15: Find and incapacitate Emir Parkreiner.**

"Swap out, Konstantin."

Immediately upon entering the barren island, Walter replaced himself with the mask, whose pair of weapons were already prepared for action.

His unblinking eyes surveyed the landscape. Somehow, no Heaven Smiles had approached. Konstantin considered the details of the mission as he gave a cursory glance at the menacing black-clad man in the photo. Were the Smiles unaware that Battleship Island had been recreated, or did they know just how powerful this target was?

"Master, it is strange."

Konstantin almost sighed as he saw Iwazaru descend from the heavens.

"The Smiles are nowhere to be seen. No Smiles means no serum. No serum means no power. No power means no victory. Take care of yourselves, but don't expect to see me around. The master's room is unreachable from here. I relinquish this, under Harman's name."

Iwazaru sprang up just as Travis ran forward, his "ERRAND BOY" shirt drenched in ectoplasmic sweat.

"Fucking shit…" the Remnant Psyche panted. "If you think your life's going by smoothly, you haven't had to sit back and wonder not only when the hell you were killed, but which of you fucking lunatics is going to be the one to die today."

"Elaborate," Konstantin commanded.

"What the hell else is there to talk about? I'm working for this shithole, but the one-man shithole is sitting here on this island, and odds are you're not going to be the ones leaving alive. Not even the chief had the balls to stand up to him."

"Hmph," Konstantin grunted before heading to a towering building in the distance.

The mask entered the tower to see an array of red lasers forming an impenetrable wall. Konstantin gave a quick look to his surroundings. It was hopeless; the only way he could proceed with the mission was if he could get through that wall.

"Swap out, Kyle."

As the heir to the title of four-eyes emerged from the bloody orbs, Kyle's eyes widened even more when he saw the lasers.

"Why am I always called at these times, man…" Kyle whined as he reached into his coat pocket.

And reached.

And reached.

"What the… there's no blood in here?" he asked as he emptied his pockets. "I can't make it across without the blood, man!"

Just as he said that, Iwazaru bounded into the room, an angel in bondage gear.

"Master, it is strange. As soon as I had returned to the base, I discovered seven vials of thin blood. It's only fitting that you take them, as they could represent your blood spilled when you fight the villain on this island. Now I really won't be coming back. I relinquish this, under Harman's name."

Iwazaru sprang back up, leaving the seven tubes as he promised. Kyle snagged them up, a manic smile spread across his face.

"Finally, it's time to check out of here, man," he spoke as he removed his glasses. One of the vials emptied its contents, and Kyle Johnson became invisible.

He staggered through the field of lasers before his powers diminished, barely making it through without being hit.

"I'm gettin' out of this joint, man. Swap out, Lochlan!"

Kyle vanished as the thief took his place, looking around with excitement before his face fell.

"Summoned without an audience waiting?" Lochlan asked no one in particular. "You might as well just have put me in that field of lasers."

"That can be arranged."

Lochlan jumped as he saw Travis hanging by his legs from an exit sign, his "HERO WORSHIP" shirt miraculously unaffected by the change in gravity.

"Jokes aside, though, this is some serious shit. You've come to rely on those Smiles for serum so you can power up, but without it you're just as useful as a gun with no ammo. Maybe four-eyes had the right idea when he bailed immediately."

"He left without a second thought?" Lochlan asked. "Does he not believe in team spirit?"

"Hey, it was just a suggestion. If you think I can read into that guy's thought process, you're overestimating my ability to read people. Flattering, but it won't help you here."

"Any advice for the road ahead?"

"Yeah, don't waste time talking to me. If I know Emir, there's only one place he'll be hiding, and you're on the right track. And don't use that blood unless it's an emergency, either. You never know when it could come in handy."

Lochlan nodded before exiting the building. The thief didn't get far before he was once again interrupted, this time by an androgynous individual wearing a black suit and coat, with long black hair gently resting by their cheeks. An eyepatch rested over their left eye.

"Good evening," the stranger greeted, his voice decidedly masculine.

"And a good evening to you," Lochlan responded. "What brings you to a place such as this, friend?"

The stranger didn't respond immediately, preferring to look over the assassin.

"Sorry, but I don't think you're the person I'm looking for," he said after his inspection. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a man who goes by 'Barefoot,' would you?"

Lochlan tapped his foot. "I may know someone who goes by that. But at the risk of intruding on any personal matters, I would like to ensure that once I take my leave, you will not do anything that would make me regret my decision."

The stranger nodded. "You have my word."

Lochlan nodded back. "And you have my trust. Swap out, Zechariah."

The tallest member formed from the red molecules, immediately preparing his crossbow upon landing.

"I am unarmed," the mysterious man said, holding up both of his bare hands. "I am also not sided with the Japanese. In other words, I am no enemy."

Zechariah frowned, but put away his weapon nonetheless. "Most people introduce themselves upon meeting a stranger, rather than jump to defend their integrity."

"Am I a stranger to you, Zechariah?"

The assassin's brow furrowed. "I would rather know why I am not a stranger to you, myself."

"Then allow me to make a proper introduction. I go by Sundance Shot."

"I have not heard of you."

Sundance tilted his head to the side. "Really now, Zechariah? Here I thought that you wouldn't be so gauche as to turn your back to a fellow friend of your country."

"You are with the United States, then?"

"As of now, I am."

Zechariah shook his head. "Those who pay respect to their homeland should be willing to do so at all times, in any scenario. You lack the qualities I look for in a comrade."

Sundance Shot walked closer. "Even when I knew you, Zechariah, we were never comrades. You were simply another face in the crowd, albeit one that I tended to see more often than not."

Zechariah pulled out his crossbow once again.

"I will give you one chance," he began. "Either explain why you have shown yourself, or I will kill you."

The enigmatic man walked closer. "You're just as naïve as you have ever been, Zechariah. Didn't you learn after the first time?"

With that, Sundance plucked a bolt from Zechariah's quiver, and stabbed it directly into his arm as the barefoot assassin had done countless times. When Sundance pulled the bolt out, not even a scratch appeared on his flesh.

"I am immortal."

Zechariah Johnson fell into a stunned silence as Sundance returned the bolt to the assassin's quiver.

"If you don't mind, I'll be taking my leave now," Sundance remarked, returning to where he had originally stood. "I must admit, it was good to see you again, Zechariah. I can only hope that a time will come when you remember who you once were."

With that, Sundance Shot slowly paced away, leaving a disconcerted Zechariah to simply stare at him.

The cooing of a pigeon broke him from his daze, and he looked down at the small bird, a tightly bound scroll resting in its beak. He picked it up, and began to read.

 **Courtesy of Michael the pigeon**

 **~ GHOST ~**

 _ **From the desk of Mr. Jim Townsend**_

 _ **April 2, 1772**_

 _ **Dear Mr. Deltahead,**_

 _ **I have often heard it said that those who are willing to forgive their enemies are the most blessed, but as the leader of an organization such as this, I have no time to believe such an absurd statement. With that said, though, you should consider yourself very, very lucky; I have received word that you had directly spoken with your latest target, a crime that I have warned you of once before, but I will not enforce a punishment on you... today.**_

 _ **Consider this your last warning. I may be willing to give you a bit of compassion due to your phenomenal performance, but to say that I am near my tipping point would be a severe understatement. The severity of your duties is significantly worse because, as stated, this man had previously betrayed my trust. The friend of my enemy is my enemy.**_

 _ **In a perfect world, Mr. Deltahead, you would be a stellar performer without having to try my patience whenever I wished to request your services. But, alas, we do not; after all, a perfect world would really not require people such as assassins.**_

 _ **I waited over a month to make my decision, but I have an assignment that I simply have to rely on you for. Your target is a young woman that had escaped from an asylum, who has killed her immediate family and her former lover in an almost blissful rage. It's a win-win situation for me, really. If you succeed, the name of the Jim Townsend Survey Company will not be dragged through the mud. If you fail, karmic retribution is on my side today.**_

 _ **Good luck, Mr. Deltahead.**_

 _ **Yours truly,**_

 _ **Jim Townsend**_

Zechariah stared at the letter, then at Michael, then back at the letter, before the bird snatched it up and flew into the distance.

The assassin once again looked into the distance, before pulling out the same bolt that had stabbed Sundance Shot not ten minutes earlier.

"What good is a weapon created to protect the ones I am bound to serve, when there exist those who are immune to it?" he asked the barren landscape around him.

He received no response.

"Swap out… Christina," Zechariah muttered.

As the shorty entered the scene, while Zechariah vanished in a puff of red, her eyes widened as she saw the wide, open space ahead of her. With an innocent laugh, she spread her arms out wide and ran forward, feeling the wind blowing through her exposed pigtails. Even as a door came into her view, her smile didn't vanish. In fact, it only widened when she opened it and saw a large staircase leading downwards.

Christina's eyes then caught a rusty banister near the stairs. Making sure to test it first, she then hopped on and slid down the several flights to the bottom floor. The only thing that stopped her was when she was only a few steps from the bottom, and she was about to crash into Travis Bell.

She hopped off, bonking her head on the side and making a resounding gong echo through the empty hallways, but she seemed no worse for wear. Travis half-grinned at this as he crossed his arms over his "SWEET BLUE FLAG" shirt.

"I don't want you to become like me just yet, kid," Travis noted as he inadvertently offered a spectral hand to help the shorty up. "What's the rush?"

"It's just been so long that we got to have fun on a mission like this, Mr. Travis!" Christina chirped. "And without any of those nasty Smilies to stop me from runnin' around, I've got so much room to explore!"

A grim chuckle escaped Travis' lips. "After seeing Smith walk down corridor after corridor, seeing someone so carefree is a nice change of pace."

Christina shook her head. "No fair tryin' to distract me, Mr. Travis."

"Distract you? How so?"

"You promised, Mr. Travis! We're gonna play today, right?"

Travis cupped his chin in his hand for a few moments before snapping his fingers. A chessboard, as well as a set of checkers, emerged from thin air, and the two sat down.

* * *

"I still don't know why you won't let me try to teach you how to play chess," Travis muttered as he moved his next piece. "I know it's a little complicated, but it's a lot of fun once you learn."

Christina shook her head again as she jumped one piece over another. "It ain't about that, Mr. Travis. Chess is just pretty confusin' for me. Why are there so many pieces that can do so many things? But in checkers, everythin's the same unless you get a piece to the end. Doesn't that seem more fair?"

"Fair, huh? To be honest, shorty, nothing has been 'fair' in years. If life was fair, we wouldn't have to worry about anything like letters about your past or smiling guys that explode. We could just sit down and focus on things again."

Christina sat in thought for a moment before shaking her head for a third time.

"Mr. Travis, can I spin around the board?" she asked. "You've got seven o' your pieces left, and I only got two."

"Well, nothing's really stopping you, I guess," Travis grumbled. "But if you did that, it's fair to say I wouldn't want to play with you anymore."

Christina gave a small smile. "What's fair and what's possible ain't the same, Mr. Travis. If you wanna make the most of what you're given, you gotta play by the rules."

Travis gave a smile of his own as he jumped over the assassin's last pieces. "Never would have guessed you would be the one to teach me about ethics."

"Well, next time I don't wanna talk at all. You're a good player, Mr. Travis, but next time I promise I'm not gonna let you distract me!"

"Heh. I'm looking forward to it."

As Travis packed up his checkerboard, a lone camera sparked to life and focused on Christina.

"Well, guess we're gonna have to wait a little longer until next time. Swap out, Mr. Walter!"

Just as the Remnant Psyche finished his duties, Walter Johnson landed on the floor, his slightly befuddled gaze staring down another long hallway.

Walter grabbed his pistol and cocked it as he slowly began to maneuver his way through the empty corridor. Despite knowing that the Heaven Smile had long since abandoned the area, the cleaner knew that the element of surprise was their greatest weapon, demonic laugh or no.

The assassin's nerves were slightly calmed as he reached the end of the room.

Those nerves returned when he saw who was waiting on the other side.

* * *

 _It just occurred to me that although I have given you sufficient information about the location that the Neo killer7 had to infiltrate, I did not tell you at all about the current state of Emir Parkreiner. It has been rumored that at one time or another the souls that he absorbed through his Multifoliate Personae Phenomenon escaped with his awakening, but those who believe so would be completely and utterly wrong._

 _Those who witnessed the operation known as "LION" would be fully aware that Parkreiner's suitcase was still with him, despite his change of clothing and his glowing green eyes. That suitcase was not just a remembrance of things past; no, the only thing that was stopping him from truly awakening was the presence of the Harman Smith that lived through him, the eighth member and the unnecessary member._

 _When that member had been removed, only then did the Third Eye truly open. Only then did Emir Parkreiner awaken to his fullest potential, to become the one man who would encompass the whole of the killer7._

"This is the Colosseum, the entryway to hell," Garcian Smith spoke, the fabled golden gun resting in his hand. "In another time, you would have had to pay a hefty fee to enter such a room, that of the lost souls of those taken before their time. And yet here you are, without a drop of blood on your hands."

Walter raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that my being here should only occur with the death of an innocent victim?"

"That was not my intention. In the world of assassinations, there are times where the best method of ensuring a kill in the future is to resist killing in the present. Either way, something tells me that pacifism isn't on your mind right now."

Walter aimed his pistol.

"You are correct. My highest priority, sir, is to make sure that any blood on my hands would be yours."

Garcian grinned. "And would your so-called highest priority match up with the other members of your little gang?"

"It is not in my position to ask that."

"Oh, don't worry; you're only in one position right now, and that's to be the first to die."

It was Garcian's turn to prepare his gun.

"Maybe you need a bit of a reminder, but this isn't just a fancy paint job. The reason why the golden gun rests in my hands is because it's the weapon of a true killer, and I'm the truest there is."

Walter let a single bead of sweat escape his forehead.

"But I'll let you have a little bit of a breather," Garcian said as he lowered his weapon. "I've got six other killers lying around in my head, and they want nothing more than another opportunity to do what they do best. Let's put yours against mine. If, somehow, you can win this little game, I just might let you leave with your life. If you don't survive, that just means that I win."

"You would toy with our lives as prizes for a game?" Walter yelled, his voice echoing through the Coliseum.

Garcian gave a grim chuckle. "They don't call me the Bloody Heartland for nothing. Now then, let's see what you've got!"

The Cleaner vanished, immediately being replaced by a hunched over albino man with no shirt, a pair of sunglasses, and standard-looking black pants.

"Swap out, Kyle!" Walter shouted. When the newer four-eyes emerged, he couldn't help wiping his eyes at what he was seeing.

"Kevin Smith, man? I thought you were, like… not here anymore, man," Kyle slurred. "You wanna… do… something, man? It'd be an honor."

Kevin pulled out his set of knives without a second thought.

"Too bad, man. It's your loss," Kyle said as he reached for his strange weapon.

 **1** **st** **Round**

 **KEVIN vs. KYLE**

 **HAJIME! FIGHT!**

Kevin made the first move as he removed his sunglasses, turning completely invisible. Kyle absentmindedly reached for his pocket, but again, no blood was found.

"What the… how am I supposed to do anything now, man?!" Kyle complained to no one in particular as the first few knives launched from nowhere. "Let's try the… rifle…"

The shots only hindered his possibility at success, as Kevin's knives got more and more accurate by his being able to hear the sound.

"Uh… let's try the shotgun, man…" Kyle grumbled as he switched around his weapon.

The unmistakable sound of steel hitting flesh interrupted him.

It was too late. Kevin's knife cut right through the neck, and Kyle was beheaded, a small pool of blood accumulating around his neck.

Kevin emerged from directly behind him as he placed his sunglasses back on his face.

 **KEVIN WINS**

 **killer7: 1**

 **Neo killer7: 0**

Christina emerged near Kyle's body just as it was vanishing; fortunately for the shorty's well-being, she didn't catch sight of it. At the same time, Kevin was taking his leave, with Con Smith replacing him.

"Hiya!" Christina said with a wave. "Haven't seen you around here. Are ya new?"

If Con's eyes were exposed from behind his bandana, she would have seen them roll. "Look, kid, I'm not here to play around. As far as I know, you're just another target, you get it?"

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Why can't we just do a bit of talkin' first?"

Con snorted. "Fuck that! If you're an enemy, you don't deserve anything but a bullet to the brain!"

Christina's eyebrows raised as she moved her hands to her mouth. "But… why can't we…"

"Shut the hell up and fight!"

 **2** **nd** **Round**

 **CON vs. CHRISTINA**

 **HAJIME! FIGHT!**

Much to Christina's dismay, Con drew his twin pistols quickly, and began to fire just as quickly. Luckily, Christina's small size, along with Con's inability to determine the exact location of her, meant that each shot was a miss.

It was a long and awkward process getting the spud launcher out of her backpack, but she just managed to do so while still avoiding the barrage of bullets.

"C'mon, start fighting!" Con taunted. "You can't run forever!"

"I'm not gonna run anywhere. If you really do wanna play, I'm gonna make sure you don't make fun of me no more!" Christina shouted back as she prepared her cannon.

The first potato blasted out of the pseudo-bazooka. Unfortunately for the child, Con was just quick enough to avoid it.

"Ha ha!" Con sneered. "Try a little harder, kid, or else there's no way you're gonna catch someone this," he paused to strike a pose, "dangerous!"

If Con was fast before, he somehow managed to get even faster. Christina was already getting dizzy trying to keep up with the original Shorty.

"I don't care how fast you are! I'm gonna get you this time!" the girl cried.

Closing her eyes shut, Christina blindly launched a potato forwards. It exploded upon impact with the ground in front of her, and through a stroke of luck, the blast radius captured the speeding Con, causing him to collapse in exhaustion as his head was removed from his body.

"Don't… make fun of me no more…" Christina repeated through her deep breaths.

 **CHRISTINA WINS**

 **killer7: 1**

 **Neo killer7: 1**

Again without her saying so, Christina vanished as she was replaced by Konstantin. On the other side, Con's body was replaced by the ominous Mask de Smith.

"Take up your weapons," Konstantin muttered, his dual weapons ready for firing immediately upon his arrival.

"Settle down and think about this for a minute," Mask responded. "Immediately taking action will take away from your ability to truly perceive the moment."

"Perception is immaterial. All that matters here is life and death."

Mask let loose a tired sigh. "I witnessed that you have a child working with you. She knows who is the strongest, and yet you have willingly set her on a path that will do nothing but restrict her. Do you realize what you could do if you would permit her to grow on her own?"

Konstantin did not respond. Mask shook his head in disappointment before reaching for his twin grenade launchers.

 **3** **rd** **Round**

 **MASK vs. KONSTANTIN**

 **HAJIME! FIGHT!**

Konstantin's shots from his automatic pistol and silent revolver barely made the original Mask flinch. The grenades that were launched from Mask's weapons of choice blew Konstantin to bits in one shot.

"How unfortunate," Mask remarked. "At this rate, that girl will never truly grow up. Heh… but eternal youth does have its advantages. To always know who the strongest is would be a blessing indeed."

 **MASK WINS**

 **killer7: 2**

 **Neo killer7: 1**

Just as quickly as the past two, the competitors were switched around with their newest representatives, Zechariah and Kaede.

Zechariah's concentration was still weakened following his encounter with Sundance Shot, a fact Kaede noticed almost immediately.

"You don't like to kill, do you," the original Barefoot commented.

"Was that a question?" Zechariah replied. "I kill because that it what I must do. Do not think for a moment that my personal beliefs are involved in this line of work."

Kaede grinned. "You're dodging the question. Just like all men do, really. You're no different from the rest of them."

"Am I a monster?"

Kaede's held back a laugh. "If you're a man, you're about half way there already. Talk is cheap, though. Let's see if you can prove me wrong, huh?"

 **4** **th** **Round**

 **KAEDE vs. ZECHARIAH**

 **HAJIME! FIGHT!**

Zechariah's crossbow was prepared before Kaede's rifle; unsurprising, since the original Barefoot's weapon was still a clunky and inadequate choice for any assassin.

Despite all of that, however, Zechariah could not draw first blood. For one reason or another, as he looked at his target, he couldn't find the will to pull the trigger.

"What's wrong? Against your 'personal beliefs' to shoot a woman?"

"It… I…" Zechariah stammered. "Y-you are not… you cannot…"

Kaede gave a spitting laugh. "Guess even a killer's got his limits. Have a good night."

It only took one shot for Zechariah to topple over in defeat.

 **KAEDE WINS**

 **killer7: 3**

 **Neo killer7: 1**

Another round, another change of fighters. The thief and the Thief emerged.

"Finally, an audience!" Lochlan cheered. "No matter how small, a true magician would be remiss to not perform when asked!"

"…I don't think anyone's askin' you for anything, _gringo_ ," Coyote muttered. "As far as I'm concerned, I just want to shoot the hell outta you so I don't have to see your fuckin' face anymore. _Comprende_?"

"A rude audience, sure, but an audience nonetheless," Lochlan whispered to himself. "Regardless, it's finally time to put on a show!"

 **5** **th** **Round**

 **COYOTE vs. LOCHLAN**

 **HAJIME! FIGHT!**

"The only trick I'm interested in is seein' you vanish after I fill you with lead, _gringo_. Let's see how well you perform, huh?" Coyote asked as he raised his custom magnum in his curious manner.

Lochlan grinned knowingly as the first few shots were fired. As a cloud of smoke erupted from the ground, the magician traveled behind his foe.

"The hell just happened?" Coyote grumbled as he looked around. "You're not sayin' I'm dealing with real magic, are you?"

"Far from it, my friend!" Lochlan replied. "You're not just dealing with real magic, but you are dealing with a very real magician!"

Coyote snarled. "Well, _señor_ , I think you'll find that any real magician can still be real dead. And now that I know where you are…"

Coyote's revolver found its way just under Lochlan's chin.

"You're fucked!"

A shot fired out, and yet the man who collapsed was Coyote. Lochlan had beaten him to the punch.

"With all due respect, I think you'll find that any audience member who would commit such an atrocious crime isn't worth keeping around," the thief remarked. "And such a shame, too! I had long since forgotten how fun it's been to perform like this!"

 **LOCHLAN WINS**

 **killer7: 3**

 **Neo killer7: 2**

The final members landed in the blood-riddled Colosseum. Both Monica and Dan had sinister smiles that crossed their faces.

"It's been too long since I've got to kill," Monica commented. "And to see that my next target is the Hellion himself? This will leave me satisfied for a while, now won't it?"

"Ha. It's almost cute, how you think you'll be able to knock off someone like me," Dan responded. "Maybe you didn't notice because your head's in the clouds, but there's only one of us who's been to see the devil. I'll give you a hint: it's not you."

"I imagine it would be a lovely reunion when you return to the flames of hell. Don't you agree?"

Dan spat on the ground. "I won't be heading there for a while, missy. Send the devil my regards, though."

 **6** **th** **Round**

 **DAN vs. MONICA**

 **HAJIME! FIGHT!**

Monica and Dan had prepared their weapons at the exact same time. Both of them revealed another demonic smile as an ethereal glow emerged from their respective guns.

" _Collateral Shot!_ "

" _Prime Collateral Shot!"_

Both orbs of energy shot out simultaneously, and made impact in the exact middle of the Colosseum. The explosion of energy was not nearly enough to take down either of those who held the title of hellion/Hellion, merely blowing a bit of wind through their hair.

"Heh… looks like I may have underestimated you, missy. I'll give you credit where credit is due," Dan growled. "But this next shot will take you down in an instant."

Monica glowered at the Hellion. "I don't think you've realized what you've forgotten, so I'll give you a second to catch up."

Dan grimaced.

"Time's up. I have a second gun."

A second Prime Collateral Shot launched from Monica's other magnum before her opponent could even prepare his. Dan's teeth clenched even tighter, before ending up as a macabre grin.

"Nice work."

The blast hit its target.

 **MONICA WINS**

 **killer7: 3**

 **Neo killer7: 3**

"Thanks," Monica muttered before vanishing.

Walter and Garcian returned to where they had originally stood.

"It's… a tie?" Garcian said. "But it shouldn't be that way, it can't be! You're telling me that you managed to prove my equal in killing?"

"Far from it, Mr. Parkreiner," Walter spoke. "As I had told you earlier, it was not my intention to prove anything. I am simply here to complete my mission, and my mission must end with your disappearance."

Garcian frowned. "You realize that that's impossible. Don't you know who the hell I am? And what about the golden gun, huh? One shot from that could have made this whole thing unnecessary."

Walter nodded. "Indeed it could have, Mr. Parkreiner. But with that said, there is one thing you have not taken into account."

"And what the hell would that be?"

Garcian blinked, and Walter appeared behind him, his pistol aiming for the Cleaner's head and the golden gun forcibly taken from the ace's hand.

"You and I, Mr. Parkreiner, are not one and the same. There may be some who believe that a man with infinite talent could never be defeated, but all humans are destined to evolve. You, however, did not."

The Bloody Heartland remained silent.

"You knew as well as I did that this game had no point, Mr. Parkreiner. No matter how well we did, you would have fired on me the first chance you had after letting your personae take form once again. You made one error, however: you made the faulty assumption that I, as a cleaner, would not have any abilities aside from resurrecting the dead. Even the most perfect of men can have their guard broken."

Garcian swore under his breath.

"Any last words, Mr. Parkreiner?" Walter asked, his finger cradling the trigger.

"I hope you realize the severity of your actions," the Cleaner seethed. "As far as the Liberation Party is concerned, I'm the messiah of all of Japan. If word gets out that a group of Americans ended my life on their holy grounds, you'll be slaughtered in a matter of minutes."

Walter did not react. "Is that all?"

Garcian nodded slowly.

"Then goodbye, Mr. Parkreiner."

A shot resounded through the room, and once again, Garcian Smith fell to his knees, bleeding profusely.

The cleaner emptied the golden gun of its bullets before pocketing it.

Walter breathed a sigh of relief as he covered his regular pistol and began the long walk back to the entrance of Battleship Island. Monica had used all six of the remaining blood capsules in firing her Prime Collateral Shots, and it was already a small miracle that the cleaner could use his speed when facing Emir Parkreiner. A fight or flight scenario was one thing, but without incentive, there was no need for it.

Walter's mind raced with thoughts, none sticking in his mind for more than a few seconds. The only interruption he had was when he noticed the laser field in front of him.

"I got it."

Walter looked around to find the source of the noise, but his tired mind couldn't concentrate on more than moving forward through the deactivated area.

It felt like hours when he had finally exited the buildings. As he climbed the final staircase, a mysterious man approached him from behind.

"Did you succeed in your mission?" Sundance Shot asked.

Walter looked out at the horizon, and watched as the sun rose from the east.

"I thought I had, sir. I thought I had."

 **Sunrise – Complete**

 **Exterminated Heaven Smiles: 0**

 _ **Heaven is the last hope of a righteous man.**_

 **Continue to – Terra Firma**


	3. Target 02 - Terra Firma

_I suppose you've heard of Andrei Ulmeyda. It wouldn't surprise me; it seems everyone has._

 _I admit that I have developed a sort of admiration for Ulmeyda, primarily since he has something that, despite my better efforts, I will seemingly never possess, and that would be charm. I believe with some degree of certainty that had Ulmeyda not come across a page of the Yakumo, he would still have created a company of some renown._

 _What most people don't realize is that he may not have wanted that position as much as others would. Ulmeyda truly lived his life, unlike oh so many people over these past few decades. But such an act comes with a price, this one being his right to live._

 _Almost every individual present at Ulmeyda's death had their flesh melted off. The only one who was able to witness his survival? Well, that's where things get interesting._

* * *

"Attention, citizens of Earth! Hear my voice and tremble!

"For so long, you have denied the will of my master, and lived your lives in ignorance. For too long, I have been forced to observe your incompetency, and your lack of willingness to truly embrace the precious gift of life you possess.

"Citizens, the time for change is now, and it will be by my hand that this change is created! Within my reach I have a most curious substance: the very blood of my master. Those who were privileged enough to drink His most precious blood have slowly but certainly gained an immunity to the countless illnesses and toxins that are contained within it.

"If even a single drop of this were to fall on you in the midst of a heavy rainstorm, it would result in a most painful and excruciating death. But such a death does not befit you, you infidels. I will instead flood the very world with His blood, so that only His most chosen people may make the world in His image. Your deaths will be quick, and your lives will be forgotten sooner still.

"I will give you one week to acknowledge my master as the true and proper ruler of all mankind. Doing so will ensure your survival when this grace period ends, as you may drink the blood as so many have. Those who do not, your days are numbered.

"The countdown begins effective immediately. All hail the most glorious master! All hail Andrei Ulmeyda!"

* * *

 _To be honest, I have been accused multiple times by some for being maniacal or totalitarian with my methods in the past. This, however, is at a level that makes me quiver with fear._

 _As an assassin, I still have some sort of moral code. Something on this level does not deserve to be tolerated under any circumstances._

 _I find it a most unfortunate situation that I must put the search for Kun Lan on hiatus once again, but as I have said, I won't allow anything to possibly hinder my mission._

 _And if memory serves, there's someone who knows his way around InterCity, Texas better than anyone else, and he's working for me at this very moment._

* * *

"Please leave your message after the tone."

Beep.

"Hello, Mr. Johnson. The election is drawing near; have you decided on your vote? If not, please let the Republic Party make the most of your precious vote. Thank you, and have a nice day."

Walter Johnson swallowed a mouthful of scrambled egg as he stared at his answering machine. Since the incident at Battleship Island, the need for the Neo killer7 had died down dramatically as Jonathan stayed relatively silent, his eyes peeled for any sight of Kun Lan. To be called down on such short notice most likely meant an emergency.

Walter picked up his platter quickly, not even bothering to ensure that the pistol was in its proper place. He speed-walked to the robotics factory, not wanting to forfeit his appearance for the sake of urgency.

The cleaner only stopped when he entered the building, and saw that the red door was closed instead of its usual ajar state.

Walter glanced over at the television. He let loose a small huff of exhaustion before checking the seven channels.

"At your service." The cleaner.

"Let's spill some blood." The hellion.

"Prepare yourself." Barefoot.

"Have you seen those things, man?" Four-eyes.

"You don't want to miss this. Today's show will be unforgettable!" The thief.

"Yeah, let's go!" Shorty.

"I am prepared." The mask.

Walter shook his head in disbelief. Somehow, someway, he managed to clean up and revive the three fallen members. To think that they could be taken down by the Bloody Heartland himself yet only be mildly inconvenienced!

The butler clicked the television off as soon as the door opened. Walter smirked; his master did have a certain sense of timing for these sorts of things.

"Ah, Walter. Just who I was looking for," Jonathan remarked, lighting up a cigarette. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

"With all due respect, sir, I believe that the urgency of the mission must take priority."

Jonathan frowned. "Humor me, Walter. Indulge an old man, won't you?"

The cleaner permitted himself a chuckle. "I dearly hope that Solomon's mannerisms are not rubbing off on you, sir."

"Walter, are we heroes?"

The butler shook his head no.

"Such a title does not fit us, sir."

The god-killer grinned. "A quicker answer than the last time, Walter. But what if our actions were to save a country? Or a continent? Or the world?"

"Is this about the mission?" Walter asked.

"Ah, astute as ever, Walter!" Jonathan commented with a smattering of applause. "When you do meet up with our good friend Mr. Stonewall, you will see for yourself just how much lies on our backs with this mission."

"I would like permission to see him now, sir."

Jonathan shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you gave your answer, so I can't keep you here. A shame, too; opportunities for us to chat like this are few and far-between."

The cleaner, at a loss for words, simply gave a short nod before turning to his destination.

Jonathan took another long drag. "Truly, truly a shame."

* * *

Solomon paced back and forth on the overpass as Walter arrived, placing his tray down.

"The hell have you _been_ , Walt? Don't you realize how important this assignment is?"

"Calm down, Solomon. If I may, I would like to see the materials, please."

Solomon's jaw dropped. "Walt, have you been living under a rock or what? Read the news, man! It's a global crisis!"

Walter's eyebrow rose. "A global crisis, you say?"

"It's some nutjob named Gabriel Clemence. He's not of much importance, except for the fact that he has a goddamn tankard of liquid that could kill any and all of us in two seconds!"

The cleaner peered into the folder. "I must say, he does not look the part."

"Looks can be deceiving, Walt; after all, you're a hardened assassin in a butler's getup. Get yourself ready, 'cause you're heading for the heart of InterCity, Texas."

 **August 27, 2024**

 **Burning heat and bloody murder in InterCity, Texas**

 **MISSION No. 16: Locate and terminate Gabriel Clemence.**

"You're new round these parts, aren't ya."

Walter turned around as he stepped out onto the street. A curious man in a tractor stared at him, a strand of straw sticking out of his mouth.

"Ain't no way no regular slicker would find their way here on their own, no sir. It's been almost fifteen years since anyone would ever want to be here."

"Why would that be?" Walter asked.

The man stared at the butler in confusion before pointing his finger to a billboard decorated with a cheerfully grinning black man. Walter moved his gaze, and swallowed.

"This man…"

"Figured you'd recognize Andrei," the man mumbled. "But this new son of a bitch that took over for him just doesn't know what made First Life Inc. work in the first place. He ain't right, of course, but it's worse than that. He's made the whole thing twisted."

Walter didn't react.

"If I were you, I'd turn tail right now. I've only seen two people leave this town alive, and one of 'em was the man who killed Andrei in the first place. If you are heading in, well… good luck."

"Thank you," Walter whispered as he paced forward. "Swap out, Zechariah."

The barefoot man appeared within a few moments, a sense of vigor and inspiration in his posture that had been missing during the previous operation. He checked his pockets to find a fresh supply of thin blood.

Zechariah Johnson stared forward at a large door on the horizon, a collection of "NO ENTRY" signs plastered upon it visible even from a distance. He slowly moved forward and pushed the door; to his surprise, it opened without any issues.

"Master, it is trendy!"

Iwazaru's bungee proved to be the most inconvenient aspect of Zechariah's entrance. The large man seethed.

"Now that the horrific afros have gone, people are now obsessed with blood. Blood is beautiful, mysterious. It's like a gorgeous woman, yow! There aren't any Camellias around, but a new Smile has blood all over. Make them bleed even more! I relinquish this, under Harman's name."

"Blood all over," Zechariah repeated to himself. "Excellent. This should allow us to keep up our energy. Today, I will not make any mistakes."

InterCity had not changed much over the years. The streets were still desolate, save for the happily jogging Clemence Smiles leaving a trail of blood as they moved. Even they could not occupy the town for long, as Zechariah's bolts made short work of them.

"Looks like you're back to your old self, huh."

"Now is not the time, Travis," the assassin said. "As you may know, this is a bit of a priority mission."

"Hey, you think I don't know that already?" Travis replied, his "FACTION" shirt drenched with sweat from the heat. "Look, I just want to help you out here a bit. I know my way around First Life Inc. almost as much as the other guy."

"What 'other guy' are you talking about?"

"Wait… you're saying you don't know? I'm talking about the thief, man! Don't you guys ever have a damn conversation?"

Zechariah cupped his chin in thought. "So if I were to swap out to Lochlan…"

"Shit, you're even slower when you're thinking than when you're running, aren't you."

Zechariah did not hear the insult, as his oral thought process had counted in dropping the magician down into the middle of the street. He dusted his sleeves before adjusting to his surroundings.

"How many times must I be summoned without an audience?" Lochlan cried out.

"Uh… I'm still here."

"Ah, of course. Besides you, my good man, besides you; a good magician always looks for a wide and varied audience so that he may receive his due criticism."

"Oh, you want criticism, do you?" Travis said.

"Well, not _now_ , of course," the thief responded. "There's still work to be done!"

With that, Lochlan picked up the pace towards a distant street, only stopping to fire at the occasional Clemence Smile.

His journey was only interrupted when he encountered a large device that contained a multitude of small slots, each shaped roughly like a human being.

"Curious!" Lochlan commented. "It's almost like… well, it's almost like something, I suppose. I just can't put my finger on it, I fear."

"Hey, is that… Lochlan, is that you?"

A security guard stuck his nose above the device, looking out at the magician.

"It's me, Wayne! Don't you remember me? We worked at the old building way back when Ulmeyda was still in charge of things!" the guard jabbered in a low voice. "C'mon, say something!"

"I'm afraid I don't recognize you, friend," Lochlan said. "Are you sure that we're acquainted?"

"Lochlan, c'mon, this isn't like you! You could never forget a face back in the old days."

Lochlan offered a small smile. "I dearly apologize, but I simply don't believe we've met. That aside, I'm here for business rather than pleasure anyways. If you could be so kind as to move this strange contraption out of the way, I'd much appreciate it."

Wayne's brows lowered. "No can do, Lockie. I got word from the new boss that I can only let you in if you find the missing figurine. There's room here for all thirteen, but no one needs the twelve old ones anymore. Just find me that thirteenth figurine so the boss won't chew me out anymore, and I'll let you in."

Lochlan nodded.

"Oh, and don't even think about sneaking in here with any of those tricks of yours. I may know who you are, Lockie, but you've gotta remember that there's a lot of other guys around here that think the boss is a lot more important than your right to exist."

The magician gulped. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Wayne."

"Any time, Lockie."

* * *

"Swap out, Monica!"

Lochlan vanished from the streets, soon replaced by the hellion.

Monica's eyes peered to her left and right, but her only interest was the spawning Smiles on those sides. Her dual magnums echoed throughout the city as she blasted away at her opponents.

"This sensation is… bloody marvelous!" Monica quipped, licking her lips. "To think that these freaks would just walk around waiting for me to bust a cap in 'em? Must be my birthday already."

A gruesome roar interrupted her gunfire. A Screamer Smile had just jumped from a rooftop, its gaping maw wide open.

Monica clenched her teeth as she aimed her magnums at the glowing yellow particles on its body. She let loose a bullet with a bang as loud as the Smile, and hit her target.

"Looks like they're not fucking around anymore," the hellion said with a frown. "Guess I'd better take this seriously."

"Master, it is trendy."

"Well, never mind that possibility," Monica groaned as Iwazaru lowered from the sky. "What the hell is it now, freakshow?"

"Master, the town is all looking for the fabled figurine. Who has it? Where could it be? I couldn't care less about it, but it looks like you'll need it to find the big boss. Use the Thief's respect around the town if you have to, but keep those eyes open. I relinquish this, under Harman's name."

"No riddles this time? You're hiding something, freakshow, and you're gonna spill the beans!" Monica threatened. Iwazaru simply sprang back up as the hellion gave him the middle finger once again.

"If Lochlan's the one in charge here, it's only a matter of time before we're screwed over," the assassin whispered to herself. "I've gotta find another way to get that thing on my own."

"Not gonna happen."

"Didn't you just… oh, it's you," Monica said, her face falling. "And here I thought that today was going to be a good day."

"Trust me, seeing you isn't entirely making everything sunshine and rainbows on my side either," Travis remarked, his arms crossed over the word "AUTOMATIC" on his shirt. "But the fact remains, sister, today is not your day. Even if the thief doesn't have a clue what's going on, it's still useful to have a connection around town."

"Are you trying to demean me? 'Cause it sure as hell isn't working," Monica spat. "You think someone who outperformed the goddamn Hellion isn't going to be respected?"

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Travis said mockingly. "Maybe you don't remember, but that whole incident is supposed to be kept under our hats. We already have one possibility of a world-ending crisis, and having the Japanese start breathing down our necks would be a bit too much for one day."

Monica clenched her teeth. "Looks like I don't have a choice in the matter, do I?"

"Nope. You had your fun, but now it's time for the grown-ups to get back to work."

"Bold words. Bet you'd change your tune if you were still alive."

Travis grinned. "Hell, even the shorty's more collected than you are."

Monica fired away at the Remnant Psyche as he vanished into the hot air.

"Don't fuck with me… don't fuck with me, you son of a bitch!" she screamed. "I don't care how long it takes, I'm going to -"

"Who are you talking to?"

Monica growled at the spectral voice, though she didn't bother to see who said it.

"Jesus Christ. I need a fucking drink," the hellion sighed.

* * *

Even with the respawning Clemence Smiles, the spilling blood wasn't enough to raise Monica's spirits after her encounter with spirits of her own. The only thing that stopped her was when she came across a plain-looking brick building with a shoddy "POST OFFICE" sign hanging from it.

"…Fine. Swap out, Lochlan," Monica said with a scowl as she disappeared.

Following his appearance, Lochlan looked around in confusion; rare was the situation that anyone aside from the cleaner would be called multiple times on one mission. With a half-hearted shrug, he entered the post office.

What shocked him the most was the hearty round of applause he received upon entering. Postal workers, customers, and even one or two homeless people looking for protection from the heat went from their regular work to a standing ovation in a matter of seconds. The thief looked around in a mix of confusion and awe.

"I… thank you! Thank you very much, ha ha!" he said with a wave. "You're a wonderful audience!"

"Lochlan, it's been so long!"

"You've gotta show us what you learned, Lockie!"

"I stayed loyal to you all these years. I… I just missed you so much!"

Lochlan gave off a confused laugh, his eyes looking for a single familiar face in the crowd.

"Friends, I am a bit busy at the moment," the thief began. "If you would please let me complete my task at hand, I will be more than happy to give you all the performance of a lifetime!"

The crowd roared ecstatically as the applause rose again.

"Now, then, if any of you could kindly tell me where I could find the thirteenth figurine, that would be much appreciated," Lochlan declared.

The applause died down instantly. An ominous silence filled the room, only interrupted when one postman shuffled awkwardly from his position.

"Lockie, uh… we can't tell you anything about that," the postman said. "It's sort of… well, the last person who had it, um…"

"Well, spit it out, my friend," Lochlan replied.

"It's Stanley. Anyways, well… the figurine is cursed."

Lochlan raised an eyebrow.

"I know, it's hard to believe, but you've gotta listen, okay?" Stanley asked. "The last seven people who had that figurine… they all died, Lockie. And believe me when I say it wasn't pretty."

"Ah, not to worry, Stanley, not to worry," Lochlan reassured. "I have many tricks up my sleeve to take down anyone who would oppose me."

"Heh. Looks like you're just as much of a wiz with a weapon as you were way back when, eh, Lockie?"

Stanley shuffled through his pockets before pulling out an envelope.

"Funniest thing. Before we knew you were coming, a carrier pigeon stopped by with a letter addressed to you. It would be an honor to have you read it in our presence."

Lochlan raised his other eyebrow as he accepted the letter.

 **Courtesy of Tara the pigeon**

 **~ FISTFUL OF LOVE ~**

 _ **From the desk of Mr. Jim Townsend**_

 _ **October 19, 1772**_

 _ **Dear Mr. Deltahead,**_

 _ **As the seasons change, those who are more poetically inclined would make some sort of comment about how it reflects humanity itself. The intensity of summer matching with our passions, and the long, cold winters that exemplify our more solemn moments.**_

 _ **Mr. Deltahead, I am not a poet, so I have only one comment regarding the lengthy periods between your assignments: you are an extraordinarily lucky man.**_

 _ **Any other man… no, any other human in your position would be targeted by every assassin that works at this corporation. The sum would be beyond our comprehension, beyond any jewel or artifact that could be uncovered. And yet, I cannot find it in me to target you.**_

 _ **How is it that someone with your insistence on breaking every law that the Jim Townsend Survey Company has strived to create would become the most effective member of the organization? Why must your performances against the likes of Yoon-Hyun and Suzie Sumner be among the greatest this generation has ever witnessed – or, should I say, did not witness?**_

 _ **It has gotten to the point that I am unsure whether or not priorities outweigh regulations. Do I still care about both? Of course. Should you? Of course. Will you? Of course not.**_

 _ **Your latest assignment is a young boy, the son of a Spanish crime lord. Find him and eliminate him as only you can. At this point, I doubt asking for anything else would be worth my time.**_

 _ **Good luck, Mr. Deltahead.**_

 _ **Yours truly,**_

 _ **Jim Townsend**_

As Lochlan pocketed the letter, he looked up to see a countless number of eyes staring at him intently.

"May I help you?" he asked confusedly.

"As I said, just to be in the same room with you is a blessing for us, Lochlan," Stanley spoke up. "Are you going to search for the figurine now?"

Lochlan nodded.

"I see. I'd suggest heading to the drugstore on the other side of town. We all sincerely hope that your mission is a success, Lockie."

Murmurs of approval began through the room, though the crowd seemed a bit more tentative.

"I thank you for your well wishes, my friends. When the time comes, as promised, I will give you all a show you will not soon forget."

With a tip of his hat, Lochlan turned and exited the post office, leaving a stunned and silent crowd to talk amongst themselves once again.

* * *

"Master, it is trendy!"

"Hello, Iwazaru," Lochlan greeted with a half-wave.

"Master, you're the talk of the town! Even the most attractive women find you irresistible. You remind me of myself, in fact!"

"I'll take that as a compliment, my friend. Anything else?"

"The thirteenth figurine could be where the man inside said so. I warn you, though, that the Smiles are getting antsy. One wrong step, and our whole mission will go up in flames! And so will you, of course. I'll take your blood for now. I relinquish this, under Harman's name."

Lochlan nodded as he handed the curious entity a bag full of thick blood. As Iwazaru soared back into the skies, the thief looked around the once-again barren streets.

"Swap out… Kyle," Lochlan finished before vanishing. The mousy man's eyes widened when he saw his location.

"Whoa, man. Usually I just get stuck with the lasers and stuff, but… man, forget it. I just need to take some deep breaths, man. Deep breaths…"

A Clemence Smile brushed past him.

" _I'm freakin' out here, man!_ "

Kyle's curious weapon fired at will against the surprisingly innocent terrorist, missing its weak spot entirely.

"What the hell is this, man?" Kyle asked nobody. "This is going way beyond weird, man. It's like they're bleedin' already!"

"Ha. Never thought I'd see the day where you'd make a genuine observation, four-eyes."

Travis slinked from behind the building, his shirt appropriately labeled "SUNSTROKE."

"Just my luck that I get to see someone freaking out for the second time today, and it just has to be you. Guess you can't win 'em all, eh?"

Kyle's eyes widened even more. "What are you tryin' to say, man? You're sayin' that I'm nuts, but… let me tell you, man, that I'm not nuts. And I can prove it, too!

"I've seen things, man. Things that no one else believes, but I've seen them. They're real, man, they're real. I'm not crazy. If anything, the whole damn world is crazy, man!"

Travis stared at the assassin in confusion.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah… yeah, I'm done, man."

"Good, I didn't want to spend too much time talking to you. Look, you're on the right track, and I'm just here to hand you your serum. Now if you could just… go somewhere that isn't here, that'd be great. I'll be honest, four-eyes, I still have no clue how to talk to you."

Kyle accepted the serum, but he still had a skeptical (as skeptical as he could be) look on his face. "Maybe I don't trust you either, man."

"Wow, you're even talking back today, huh? Either you just grew a pair, or this heat's getting to you. Either way, I'm out of here. Let's get this over with, huh?"

As the Remnant Psyche turned to leave, leaving the bespectacled man in a state of confusion beyond his usual, drug-hazed self.

"I'm better than that, man. I'll show you just what I mean."

Another Clemence Smile grazed Kyle's shoulder.

" _Get me the hell out of here, man!_ "

The streets were filled with blood once again.

* * *

Aside from the countless bodies of Clemence Smiles, it was a relatively low-key journey to the other side of InterCity. No other types had come around, Kyle's shotgun shells were shockingly accurate given his state of mind, and the standard twists and turns of the roads were ignored for a straightforward route to the fabled drugstore.

After about half an hour, his energy had started lowering, even with the amount of serum he still had in his coat pocket.

"I need a break for a while, man. Swap out, Konstantin."

The mask replaced four-eyes in a matter of seconds, his stalwart gaze observing nothing but the building a few steps ahead of him.

"Weakness," Konstantin grunted before forcing the door open.

The drug store was just as empty as the streets leading up to it. The only occupant was a blonde young woman whose tank top exposed an absurd amount of cleavage.

"What're y'all doin' round here?" she asked with a heavy drawl. "Y'all shouldn't be here if'n ya know what's good fer ya."

"I am not here to interfere," Konstantin spoke, his voice as flat as ever. "I seek an item that is known colloquially as the 'thirteenth figurine.' Have you any information about this?"

The shopkeeper glared at the assassin. "Y'all just asked the wrong question."

"I take your answer as a confession. You will give me the information that I require," Konstantin commanded. "Failure to do so will result in my having to terminate you."

The woman uttered a guttural growl. "Y'all think you can threaten me? You don't know who you're dealin' with, I reckon."

She pulled out a pistol of her own, aiming it between Konstantin's eyes.

"Maybe if you were to tell me somethin' 'bout how you learned what the thirteenth figurine is, I'll let you keep livin' for a bit longer."

Konstantin stared at the barrel of the gun before lowering his arms.

"I received my information from a man named Lochlan Johnson."

The woman blinked a few times. "I know a Lochlan, but that sure as hell ain't his full name. If'n y'all could give me a bit of proof as to how you've heard of him, maybe I'll change my tune."

The mask exhaled, the most a sigh could come out of him. "In doing so, I will most likely have to kill you after you see him. Do you accept this fate?"

"Fine, whatever," she replied. "Ain't no way Lochlan would kill me. We're like family."

Konstantin breathed out once again. "Very well. Swap out, Lochlan."

As the thief entered the scene, the woman's eyes went from serious to awe-inspired just as quickly.

"Oh… oh Lordy, it's you! It's you!" the shopkeeper squealed, lowering the gun.

"Hm? Ah, hello," Lochlan said. "I apologize for my, er… peculiar entrance."

"Peculiar? Aw, hell no!" the woman near-shouted. "To see one of Lochlan's tricks myself is a once-in-a-lifetime chance!"

Lochlan cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, I am glad that another audience member will leave with a smile on their face, at least. May I ask your name, ma'am?"

"Oh, just call me Agnes, sir."

Lochlan grinned, and tipped his hat once again. "A pleasure to meet you, Agnes."

Agnes squirmed with excitement.

"Now, if I'm to understand, my partner has already approached you about the thirteenth figurine, am I correct?"

"Yes, yes, yes, sir!" Agnes said with excitement. "But I know that ya wouldn't want anythin' to do with that, now would ya?"

The thief grinned. "I'm afraid you don't know me as well as you'd wish, Agnes. If I don't get that figurine, we could all be in big trouble."

Agnes held back a laugh. "Aw, Lochlan, don't ya remember? If ya get the figurine, the only one whose gonna be in trouble is you."

"And you don't think that's a risk I'm willing to take?"

She cupped her chin in her hands. "Guess ya got a point there, Lockie, but I ain't gonna let it go that easy, even for you. It's more important than most things are 'round these parts."

Lochlan smirked. "Would this have anything to do with that Gabriel Clemence fellow?

Agnes shivered. "You can't just say his name. He hears ya… he hears everythin', I'm tellin' ya!"

"Everything, you say?"

The shopkeeper nodded. "Ever since he took over for Mr. Ulmeyda, everythin's been getting' creepier and creepier 'round these parts. Those creepy smilin' fellas were one thing, but when they started bleedin' everywhere it was just too much. But that was only the beginnin' of it all.

"After a bit these weird cameras started poppin' out of everywhere, all so that he can keep an eye on us. He even closed the Iron Crow when he saw someone talkin' 'bout how Mr. Ulmeyda vanished, and that guy was never spoken from again."

Lochlan nodded, scrawling something down on a piece of paper. "I see. Is there anything else that I should know about this man?"

"That's just the thing, Lochlan, we don't know much about him at all. He can watch us, but we can't watch him. We make one mistake, and we could be in grave danger."

"Then why are you telling me this? Isn't your life in danger as well for informing me, Agnes?"

The blonde woman slumped over as she toyed with the straps of her tank top. "Well, I was already threatened by some weirdo who said he knew ya, so I figured if I really was gonna die, I'd like ya to have as much information as possible."

The thief gave a sincere smile. "That is much appreciated, Agnes. If there's something I can do to thank you for your work –"

Lochlan's offer was interrupted when Agnes leaned forward and kissed him square on the lips. The magician's face paled as he attempted to pull away, before finally getting away after a few seconds.

"Well, everythin's fine now. Sorry for startlin' ya, though; I just knew ya wouldn't agree otherwise!" Agnes giggled. "But just between the two of us, Lochlan, ya got some cold lips!"

The assassin's jaw fell agape as he stared in confusion at the young woman.

"Anyways, ya can find the thirteenth figurine at the Iron Crow, if'n ya can sneak in. Thanks for everythin', Lockie!"

He left the drugstore just as the bullet from an unseen gunman pierced through the shopkeeper's skull.

* * *

"Lochlan's got a girlfriend, Lochlan's got a girlfriend."

"Now is not the time, Travis," the thief breathed. "I'm all for pleasing an audience, but that took it to an extreme that I can't say I was expecting."

"Hey, when you're in this system, anything you can get is worth getting," Travis replied, flipping a coin that reflected light through his "FALL APART" shirt. "And you even got the location of the figurine, right? You get that, and then we'll be heading on home."

Lochlan cleared his throat.

"Ah, guess I touched a nerve there. Straight up, though, we're getting close to finding the son of a bitch in charge of this joint. Just one last word of advice: watch out."

"Watch out? For what?"

Lochlan's question was answered by the telltale laughter of a Heaven Smile. He prepared his handgun and closed his right eye, but he couldn't find it anywhere nearby.

Then it occurred to him.

The Phantom Smile blew up right behind him, leaving the thief decapitated.

* * *

"Need some cleaning?"

Walter huffed in exhaustion as soon as he stepped out of the interdimensional door, the heat bearing down on him more than others due to his heavy clothing.

It was an arduous trip to the outskirts of the drugstore, fortunately only interrupted from a handful of loose Clemence Smiles that had not learned from the actions of their predecessors. The only real obstacle was the Phantom Smile that had replaced his fallen comrade.

The cleaner's pistol had, indeed, been under the usual serving platter, and he fired a single shot from it at the Smile's oversized left arm. As he dissipated into molecules, Walter collected the loose blood, filling up another bag. He gave a soft smile as looked down at the head of his associate, knowing that the serum that would soon be created would be a great help.

"I assure you, this is business as usual. You shall be returned to normal in a moment's time."

* * *

"Swap out, Christina!"

It was the shorty who exited Jonathan's room; Walter considered a bit more time would be necessary until Lochlan had fully recovered from his meeting up with the Phantom Smile. Christina's contagious smile was still on her face, even if she wasn't as excited to have to fight Smiles again.

The biggest problem Christina had was dealing with the wide area that she faced. This wasn't just a case of climbing a big tower or opening a door, and it proved a bit much for the girl.

"Master, it is trendy."

"Oh, hiya, Mr. Iwazaru!" Christina said. "Can you help me out? I think I'm a little lost."

"Master, the end is coming. Our destination is the Iron Crow diner, but the only thing on the menu is the thirteenth figurine. Hope you've got a big appetite today. You should find the restaurant near the entrance to InterCity. I relinquish this, under Harman's name."

"Wait, but I don't know where that is either! C'mon, Mr. Iwazaru!" the shorty begged, but it was too late. Iwazaru had already sprung back up into the skies.

"Aw, this is no fun. Mr. Iwazaru just mixes me up. Why can't I see Mr. Travis again so we can play checkers?"

As soon as her wish left her lips, she caught a glimpse of a spectral human leaning casually against a wall, reading a piece of paper. Christina beamed as she ran full speed toward the building, ignoring the Smiles on her side.

She screeched to a halt next to him, though he didn't look as pleased to see her as he had been.

"Not today, kid."

Christina's face fell. "Am I botherin' ya? I didn't mean to! I just wanna have some fun with you, that's all!"

"Look, shorty, I understand that you like playing games, but some things are more important. If today were any other day, chances are we could play a round or two."

Travis lowered his arms, finally exposing the word "JUMP" on his shirt.

"I know it's hard for you, being the youngest and all that, but sometimes we've got more important things to do than play. I mean, just look at that freak Iwazaru. He's all business."

Christina lowered her face in disappointment. "I understand that, Mr. Travis, but it's been so long since I got to see you. Are you sure you don't wanna just play one game?"

Travis stared down at her, but resumed looking back at his paper after a moment. "You're not gonna change my mind today, kid. If you're looking for the Iron Crow, it's just around the corner there."

The shorty took a few steps, but turned around.

"Mr. Travis… what is that you're readin'?"

"This is a letter the thief got earlier today. That's all I can tell you. Now get outta here."

Christina nodded before pacing off to the diner.

The building was predictably bare, but what did surprise the child was that this door, too, was unlocked. A torn beam from the ceiling shone down a solitary ray of light onto a little toy person dressed entirely in white.

"Yay, I found it!" Christina cheered as she jogged towards the elusive figurine. "Now maybe Mr. Travis can play with me!"

When she picked up the toy, a blaring alarm resounded through the closed diner, and a pair of Giant Smiles lumbered in, their laughs slow and rhythmic.

"A trap? Why didn't anyone tell me?" the girl asked before piecing together her spud gun. "Everyone's been sayin' that we gotta get outta here quick!"

The explosive potatoes made short work of the Giant Smiles, but it didn't stop the alarm. Christina yelped before pocketing her prize and navigating out of the diner.

The effects of the security system weren't limited solely to the restaurant, as the child noticed immediately. The normally peaceful (relatively speaking) Clemence Smiles had moved from their usual sluggish pace to an alert and speedy enemy.

"Uh-oh, looks like I'm not gonna help out much. Swap out, Mr. Lochlan!"

The thief had almost gotten used to the peculiar transformation sequence, having already set a personal record for the number of times he was called for in one day. The first thing the magician noticed was the increased abilities of the Clemence Smiles, though his reflexes had improved since he was caught by the Phantom Smile not too long ago.

"A proper audience member always shows interest in the show," Lochlan commented as he prepared his weapon. "You deserve a proper punishment, I'm afraid."

The homing bullets were just as accurate as ever, but the overwhelming number of Smiles proved to be a bit much for the thief. He turned tail and ran, before finding Wayne forcefully pushing the structure that blocked his way earlier.

"Lockie, I know you found it. No other way the alarms would go off like that. You're the only one we can count on to try and turn things back to the way they were."

The assassin nodded. "You have my thanks for moving the barricade. Are you sure the Smiles won't find you?"

Wayne grinned. "I've been drinking that blood for ages now. There's nothing that thing can do that I haven't suffered through already.

"Now go, quick! Time's running out, Lockie!"

Lochlan gave a thumbs-up before dashing through the previously inaccessible area.

* * *

The trail winded upwards, peppered with political posters. Each one featured the enigmatic Andrei Ulmeyda in a certain pose or practicing an event, though someone had lazily painted a rough caricature of Gabriel Clemence's face onto each one.

Lochlan Johnson paid these no mind as he ran up the twisting pathway. The only thing in his mind was to save the town of people who somehow knew him, as well as ensuring the safety of the planet.

His progress was impeded when he ultimately ran into yet another obstacle in his path, this time a complex-looking lock on the door to First Life, Inc.

"I've gotta say, I'm pretty impressed. Didn't think you'd be able to actually get this far."

Travis stood, his arms extended as if he was the bigger obstacle blocking the assassin's path, his "LOCKDOWN" shirt a fitting choice.

"Now here's the thing, thief. I'll tell you straight up, if you enter that building, you're probably not gonna come back alive. Even the chief had a lot of trouble dealing with someone who could inject themselves with the Heaven Smile virus."

"That's a risk I'm quite willing to take, Travis," Lochlan responded. "This is not a situation where giving up is an option. I'd go so far as to say this isn't an occupation where giving up is an option, even."

"Look, I'm not here to try to fool you or whatever, all right? There's no bullshitting around this one, because if there's one thing I know, it's that even if this psychopath isn't bluffing, you're going to be in for one hell of a showdown."

Lochlan shook his head. "Even if that were the case, I've got an audience waiting with baited breath, and it's my job to disappear at the end of the show, not theirs."

Travis smirked. "If anything, I have to commend your loyalty. But there comes a time where loyalty has to be replaced by common sense, and if you're not willing to accept that, you'll be the next victim."

It was the assassin's turn to smirk. "I'll take my chances, Travis. Now if you could, I've got to unlock that door."

"I wouldn't worry about that. I've already unlocked it before you arrived. Your target is just ahead. Give us a show to remember."

"My pleasure."

* * *

The biggest change that First Life, Inc. had undergone over the years was that it managed to forfeit its false representation. No longer was the menacing building just a weak cardboard cutout, but a real and proper building with the same fake employees.

Outside of the building stood the current CEO, Gabriel Clemence, a curiously vile look on his face as he stared at the company he inherited.

"Gabriel Clemence. I've come to kill you."

The man turned on his heel to see Lochlan Johnson, his breathing heavy and unsteady.

"So you're the one who thought you could stand up to the inevitable end of the world, are you?" Gabriel asked, revealing a half-full glass of brandy in his hand. "From what I've witnessed, you're quite popular with the other citizens. Wouldn't want you to try and usurp my position, now would we?"

"That's not my intention," Lochlan grumbled. "As I told you, I've come to kill you. Letting you stay alive is putting the whole world in jeopardy."

Gabriel spat out a laugh before taking a sip of his drink. "This world is already in jeopardy, Johnson. How am I in the wrong for deciding to simply reset things back to the way they belong? Those who have followed His most gracious lifestyle can continue the world in his image, and those who don't get cast aside like the vermin they are. I see no issues with this plan."

The thief raised his weapon. "If you're trying to persuade me, it's not going to work. I'm not here to talk morals with you, Gabriel Clemence. I'm here to make sure that your next breath is your last."

The CEO gave out another laugh. "Impressive! Very impressive! But words alone aren't enough to give you such a position as the one I've gained, Johnson. Actions speak louder than them, after all."

He threw his glass to the ground as he pulled out a syringe.

"And this action right here… will be the loudest of them all!"

He stabbed himself through the arm of his coat sleeve, his laughter turning from evil to maniacal to that of a Heaven Smile as he transformed.

Just as his predecessor had, his head launched off of his body as blood rained down onto the outskirts of the company. When it descended, his form changed into that of a Heaven Smile with a pure black body.

"A Black Smile," Lochlan whispered, looking at the monstrosity that had emerged. "There's only one weapon that could possibly eliminate one of these things."

A piercing bullet soared through the air, striking the Smile right in its heart. Gabriel Clemence gave out one last fit of laughter before exploding into even more blood.

"Only the golden gun can. Lucky for you, I'm the one who's got it."

Lochlan turned around to see the Remnant Psyche of Emir Parkreiner, somehow holding his legendary weapon in his hand.

"You're a lucky man, Johnson. If Travis didn't clue me in that you were going to try and take down this son of a bitch, you'd be a dead one instead."

Lochlan didn't respond.

"I'll spare you the life lessons about the importance of knowing when the opponent you're facing is too powerful. Just be on your guard, and cross your fingers that you can find a way to take down those Black Smiles on your own."

"Yeah," the thief replied, looking surprisingly downtrodden.

"Get back to InterCity and tell everyone what happened. You owe it to them, after all."

The magician nodded before a small smile spread across his face.

"I will make sure to live up to your expectations."

As he turned to leave, another Remnant Psyche stepped forward, laughing heartily.

"Goddamn, Smith, you almost scared the shit out of me! Who could have imagined that you'd be the one to take down poor Clemence?"

"I owed them that much, at least. Now that I'm stuck in this form for a while, it's up to them to finish the job."

"Do you really think they're up to it?"

Emir sighed. "Well, if they're not, it's going to be one hell of a ride. I can't show up everywhere, after all."

Andrei Ulmeyda shook his head. "Don't worry too much about that. That man, Johnson, has something that I haven't seen in a long time. He's got a passion to live life."

"Did you know him once, Andrei?"

"Back when I was starting the company, he was one of my first workers. He left a long time ago because he didn't think that what I was doing was right. When that happened, Smith, I knew that he was something special."

Emir nodded. "I see. Well, ready to head back?"

Andrei nodded back. "Guess we don't have much of a choice. Such a shame about Clemence, though. I really thought he'd be the one to turn things around."

"Power corrupts easily. Maybe he just learned from his old teacher, huh?"

Andrei Ulmeyda's laughter echoed through InterCity as the two spirits moved on.

 **Terra Firma – Complete**

 **Exterminated Heaven Smiles: 79**

 _ **If Heaven were on a place on Earth, man would soon turn it into Hell.**_

 **Continue to - Espionage**


End file.
